The Shadow Walker A Legolas Romance
by princesswithashotgun
Summary: Eda is a flight-risk mercenary hoping her luck will change. And it does. When Eda meets Gandalf, he tells her valuing life isn't a weakness. Seeing Eda's true colors, he hires her to protect Bilbo as he takes an unexpected holiday. Eda ends up in the Fellowship, where she causes unnecessary drama, and entirely upsets the balance of a story we're all so familiar with.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

A tall figure strode down a dimly-lit hall, wearing a tall, pointy hat and a long gray robe, and carrying a twisted wooden staff. His footsteps on the stone floor echoed wildly, bouncing down the hall. Finally, he stopped at a door and tapped it with the butt of his staff.

The door swung open, revealing a golden-haired dwarvish woman. She looked up at the tall figure and motioned him past the door. He obeyed, leaning down to fit through the short doorway, and the woman closed the door behind him.

"Gandalf," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I thank you for coming. My brother...he thought highly of you."

"Why have you asked me to come?" Gandalf said in a private tone.

"I seek your council," the woman replied. "You see, something rather unexpected has come up..."


	2. Half a Payment Again

**Chapter One: Half a Payment...Again**

My prey sat at the bar, hunched miserably over a pint of ale, shooting frequent glances over his shoulders.

 _Yes, my little target, drink up. Make my job easier._

He knocked back the cup, swallowing again and again, until it was empty. As he handed it to the bartender, he glanced around once more.

"I know every customer here," the barkeep said as he filled the mug. "Relax." At my target's unsure expression, the barkeep added, "You're safe here."

But where there are shadows, you are never safe. Because I may be there. I am sly, I am quick, I am cunning. I am your greatest fear.

I am the Shadow Walker.

And I am no customer.

It took awhile, but after a few drinks, my prey had loosened up a bit and asked for a room upstairs. Arrangements were made, and the target went up the staircase. I slipped after him.

I already knew how I would do it. I would wait until he fell asleep, then gag and tie him. There would doubtless be a crossbeam I could hang him from. A little reworking, and it would look like suicide. My employer would be free of suspicion from his peers, but the others working his land would know, and fear.

And for once, I'd get the second half of my payment.

In the past, _something_ would always go wrong. Something inexplicably random, at just the wrong moment. Like the time Denethor hired me to strategically relieve one of his captains of life. I had been two minutes from the kill, when the captain was found and ordered to return home immediately.

And, not having the guts to tell Denethor I failed, I left. Moved on to the next job. I always do.

I scowled. That would _not_ happen this time. Especially since there was nothing high-profile about my target or my employer. This man was a coward, and a common thief—refusing to pay his landlord rent. Running when the landlord threatened him.

A steady snore filtered through the door of my target's room. It was time. I placed my hand on the doorknob, and slowly opened the door. The hinges gave a low whine, but it hardly compared to the noise emanating from the man's throat. I snuck into the room and closed the door behind me.

Another man stood behind it. A very tall man, wearing gray robes and a gray hat, with gray eyes and gray hair. His wooden staff was long and gnarled. "You would take a life," he said, "for money?"

I froze. I hadn't even drawn a weapon! Usually, when people see me enter a man's room, they think my visit is of a very different nature. And hopefully, they never learn otherwise.

How did he know?

I glanced at my target. He was sprawled out on the bed, unconscious.

"Please," I said meekly, bringing a blush to my cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I had thought perhaps my presence would be welcomed by this man." I glanced up at Mr. Gray through my eyelashes. "Rewarded, even," I mumbled.

He chuckled. "And a liar as well. Your parents would be ashamed, Amariel."

I pulled my knife from my sleeve and attacked.

He deftly parried my blow with his staff, then caught my hand and took away my knife. There was something unnatural about how this old man behaved, something besides the fact that I felt like an insolent child. This was bloody embarrassing, and with his hand wrapped around my arm, I couldn't escape the situation.

The old man dragged me from the room, down the hall, and down the stairs. Oh Mordor, what was he going to do to me?

No one even noticed as he pulled me across the pub and sat me down at the corner table, where I'd been not five minutes ago. The man released my arm and seated himself across from me, and I sighed. There was no point in running.

"You are talented, Amariel." He placed the knife on the table. "But you limit yourself."

"My name is Eda," I snapped.

He squinted, looking deep into my eyes. Then he gave a faint nod and released my arm, sitting back and pulling a pipe from his robes. I didn't bother trying to run; somehow, I got the feeling I would never get far.

"Hmmm..." The man's eyes darkened, and he examined me closely. I looked away, trying not to squirm under his gaze. What in Eru's name did he _want_?!

Finally, he removed his pipe from his mouth and said, "My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Gray. And I have been searching for you, for a very long time." He picked up the knife and examined the blade, then handed it back to me. "Here, I find you—working as a mercenary, hired to kill a simple fool and unable to accomplish even that."

I scowled, pushing the knife up into my sleeve, where I could draw it again in a moment's notice. "How could I, when you stopped me?"

"You underestimate your own power, Amariel, because you are crippled with your value for life."

" _Illùvatar_ , would you stop calling me that!?" I swore. I was more than a little irked that this Gandalf kept butting into my personal space, and stubbornly using my other name. Where did he even learn it, anyway?

"And yet," he continued, unfazed my outburst, "the ability to take a life is not power. Nor is valuing life a weakness."

Stunned, I met his gaze.

He smiled. "Now, that is better. You see, I should rather like to hire you."

I crouched in the bushes several days later, observing my employer and his pet Hobbit as they smoked.

"Old Toby. The finest weed in the Southfarthing." Baggins drew on his pipe, then blew out a ring of smoke, perfectly round and holding its shape. Gandalf, unable to resist showing off, drew from his own pipe and created a ship, blowing it off to sail through Baggins's circle. The whole show reeked of magic. I restrained a chuckle.

"Ah," Baggins said, admiring the two forms of smoke. "Gandalf, my old friend, this will be a night to remember."

Gandalf _hmmm_ ed a response, still watching his ship.

Suddenly Baggins straightened. "Blast it all," he muttered, standing.

"What seems to be the matter?" Gandalf said, raising a single bushy gray eyebrow.

"Those blasted Sackville-Bagginses came!" he exclaimed. "I'm off to protect my cake tray." And he waddled away.

I waited until he was well down the hill, then crawled out of cover and sat beside Gandalf. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he said, giving me barely a side glance. "In fact, I was wondering if you'd changed your mind."

"Why would I do a thing like that?" I quipped. "Babysitting a crazy old Hobbit? Sounds like a dream vacation."

"Hmph. That isn't what you told me two weeks ago."

"There's this thing," I replied. "It's called sarcasm."

Gandalf chuckled. "Of that, I'm sure."

We were quiet for a moment, then I pulled my hood off and ran my fingers through my matted hair. "So. Any ideas what the grumpy old coot's plans are?"

Gandalf turned to look at me, his gray eyes twinkling. "I do believe you're referring to me."

I snorted. "Not this time, wizard. I meant your pet Hobbit. Baggins. Does he have a specific destination he's going to dash off to, or shall he wander aimlessly?"

"I'm sure he has a destination in mind," Gandalf replied. "But he did not tell it to me." He paused, taking a pull from his pipe and let the shapeless smoke drift from his mouth. "If I had to guess," he said at length, "I would guess that Bilbo was headed for Rivendell first. After that, I imagine he'll try to revisit Erebor if he can."

I flopped back onto the grass, throwing an arm over my eyes. " _Bleh_. Remind me why I'm following your stupid Hobbit across Middle Earth?"

"Because he is very special to me," Gandalf replied. "Quite possibly the bravest Hobbit in all the Shire."

"Ha! Like that means anything." I rolled over to face the wizard. "But, for real, you _are_ paying me, right?"

From down the hill came Baggins' call: "Gandalf! Have you got any whizpoppers to show us?"

Gandalf stood, giving me a serious look. "I do not know what Bilbo has in mind for tonight—but keep a sharp eye. I shall speak to you later, Eda."

"Sweet Lothlòrien," I muttered. "If you don't pay me, I swear to Illùvatar...!"

Softly chuckling, Gandalf made his way down the hill, toward the party. I remained in the nighttime shadows, content to watch the festival from afar. Off to the right, some of the more musically gifted Hobbits were making a joyful noise, and an area had been cleared for the liveliest young Hobbits to dance. Predictably, while the Hobbit women danced alone, the majority of the Hobbit men slouched off to the side, drinking ale and smoking.

There was one young man, though, dancing through the crowd. His dark curls bounced with every step, and his bright smile was a beacon to the girls around him. I allowed myself a small smile. He was so happy. I wished Fate had been so generous to me, but if my lonely path allowed that young Hobbit to feel joy, I wouldn't complain.

A _hiss_ sounded out, and a firework shot into the air. It reached a peak, then exploded outward into sparkling rockets of blue and silver. Chills ran down my spine at the beauty, and the heat it emitted. Now _that_ was a whizpopper.

Despite my inner pessimist telling me I was better off alone, I finally gave in to my semi-sociable side and went down the hill. Mingling with the side-liners, I wound my way toward Gandalf, intending to pay him a legitimate compliment, if you can believe it.

"Is that a _human_?" whispered one of the women behind her hand to a friend.

"That, or a very tall Hobbit lass," replied the other. "And she doesn't have the look of one full-grown."

I pretended not to have heard, and kept walking, searching out my very tall friend in his very tall hat.

Gandalf was snagging a new firework from his cart, chuckling in anticipation. I started after him, then something in the shadows caught my eye and I paused. Two Hobbit men, barely of age by the appearance, ran up to Gandalf's cart and began snatching at the fireworks within.

"No no no, the big one!" whisper-shouted one to the other. The other grabbed the largest of the fireworks, and at the first's approving grin, they bounded away.

I frowned. Hobbits were such irritating and troublesome creatures! The boys were obviously up to no good; I could run after them and try to stop whatever foolishness they'd planned, but there was a good chance I wouldn't make it in time. Instead, I opted to tell Gandalf. He was much easier to find, anyway.

I trotted off after the wizard, quickly spotting him towering over everyone else. "Gandalf," I called.

He turned to me, smiling. "I admit, this surprises me."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But this shouldn't. A couple of Hobbit idiots grabbed one of your fireworks and made a run for it. I thought you should know."

He frowned. "I wonder who it could be...most of the Hobbits here are very well-behaved." Eyes twinkling, he lowered his voice and said, "Because, as you know, Hobbits don't approve of anything unexpected."

 _Boom!_

I snorted. "Yeah? Well what do you call..." I turned to point at the firework rising into the sky, but something about its shape gave me a bad feeling. Something...sinister. "...that..." I whispered.

The firework turned back on itself, exploding into the shape of a dragon. Red and gold. Eyes on fire. Mouth agape...

Coming straight toward me.

I looked deep into the beast's eyes, frozen in place. Standing my ground, I would like to claim, but no. I was too terrified to move. To even breathe.

Closer it came. Closer, and closer...

 _Who dares to enter into my domain?_

"It is not I trespassing!" I shouted.

"Amariel?" came a faraway voice. I ignored it. This was far more important.

 _I am...Death..._

"My kin did nothing to hurt you!" I cried.

"Amariel!" Something shoved me to the ground. The fire drake swept over me and the rest of the crowd, flew straight up, then exploded again, this time into a million sparkles of red and gold.

Someone pulled me upright, and a hand supported my neck. "Amariel?" A callused thumb stroked my cheek. "All is well," he said.

I blinked. Gandalf? I sat up slowly, pulling away from his touch. "What happened?" I whispered.

"It was only a firework," he answered. "It seems to have...triggered something within you."

My mind cleared, and I looked up at him. "I'm fine. You better go stop those fool Hobbits before they do some real damage."

Gandalf glanced over me with a concerned expression, then he nodded, stood, and strode away.

I took a deep breath and sighed, then tousled my hair. That was...embarrassing. I pushed myself onto my knees, about to stand, when a voice stopped me. "I saw what happened—are you alright?"

Just behind me stood the dark-haired Hobbit I'd seen dancing. With him standing and me kneeling, I was about a foot shorter than him. He was cute, worried blue eyes and all.

"Yeah," I answered, giving a small grin. "I'm okay. Startled me a bit, that last firework."

He grinned back. Aww Eru. These Hobbits would be the death of me. Toeing the ground bashfully, he said, "It startled me, too. But Bilbo knew there wasn't anything wrong." He glanced over his shoulder at where Gandalf's pet was motioning for some very, _very_ young Hobbits to gather around. Apparently Hobbit hatchlings came with their eyes full-grown.

Note to self: if you see a Hobbit hatchling on the side of the road, pick it up.

Back to the matter at hand. Gandalf's pet. "This Bilbo..." I asked carefully. "Do you know him?"

The man gave a short laugh, but not in a mean way. Actually, that too was quite adorable. "Bilbo? Of course. He's my uncle. I thought everyone knew that."

I chuckled. "I'm new around here. Gandalf...invited me to the party."

"That's funny," he said. "He didn't mention..." A troubled look came into his eyes, and he looked away. Then he sighed, pulling on a pleasant expression. "No matter. My name is Frodo Baggins."

I smiled. "I'm Eda."

"So where are you from, Eda?"

"Oi! Frodo!" came a call from behind me. "Tell Rosie to let me 'ave a drink and rest me feet!"

Frodo laughed, and I stood, searching for an excuse to end our conversation. Baggins Sr. was waddling away with a flock of Hobbitlings in tow, toward a big cake with a _lot_ of candles. He leaned down to their height, showing them how to effectively swipe a bit of icing without being caught.

"Speech!" called one of the Hobbits from the crowd.

"Speech!" Frodo piped in immediately.

Thank Eru. I flashed a smile at Frodo, who was moving closer to a podium as Bilbo was ushered onto it. I trudged to the outskirts of the crowd, then found a shadow to hide in and watch. My head told me this was just another part of the festival—but my gut told me action was coming.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins," Bilbo began. "Tooks, and Brandybucks. Grubbs, Chubbs, and Proudfoots."

"Proud _feet!_ " bellowed one Hobbit from the crowd.

Bilbo gave a dismissive gesture, and the crowd laughed. Then he grinned and said, "Today is my one-hundredth and eleventh birthday!" The crowd cheered, and he continued. "Eleventy years is hardly enough time to spend in the company of such fine Hobbits. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

A confused silence followed Bilbo's statement. I, myself, was trying straighten out all the double-negatives and whatnot, when Bilbo hesitantly continued.

"I...I have things to do..." He slipped his fingers into his pocket and pulled something out, hiding it behind his back. Then his voice gained some strength. "I regret to announce that this is the end. I must be going now." A wicked glint entered his eyes. "Goodbye."

And with that, he vanished from sight.


	3. Babysitting Lovely

**Chapter Two: Babysitting. Lovely.**

Gandalf frowned and met my gaze, finding me with ease. Whatever this was, he was just as clueless as I. I ran in the shadows, toward the lane of Hobbit holes where Gandalf had said Bag End was situated. There it was, a door with a magical mark, greatly faded and covered over with layers of paint, but still glowing. That same door of opened and closed, seemingly unaided. I vaulted the low stone wall and hid behind the bushes below the window, listening.

"I suppose you think that was very clever," Gandalf said. How had he gotten here before me? _Wizards._ I rolled my eyes.

Baggins gasped, then chuckled. "Oh, come now Gandalf! Did you see their faces?" A moment of silence. I could imagine Gandalf's reproving frown. Baggins sighed. "You're probably right, as usual."

"There are many magic rings, Master Baggins, and _none_ of them should be used lightly."

Oh dear. Here came a lecture. I darted away to grab my things. If my gut was right in its thinking, Bilbo would probably leave tonight—and soon.

I ran to the sloped field opposite Bag End, fast as my legs would carry me. I'd hidden my provisions and weapons in a stand of underbrush, but in the dark, it was hard to tell one clump of bushes from another. There, that looked right. I went down on my hands and knees and reached into the branches. My fingertips grazed the leather strap, and I pulled my satchel free. Slung it over my shoulder, grabbed my twin swords, and trotted back.

As I approached, the door opened. I dove behind the stone wall, out of sight.

"Bilbo," came Gandalf's unamused voice. "The ring is still in your pocket."

"Oh," Gandalf's pet said, attempting to chuckle and failing. "Right."

A long, deadly pause. My own heartbeat hammered in my chest. Something felt so...off. Something clanked loudly, and I jumped. What was that?

The Hobbit sighed, and his footsteps thudded into the courtyard. Then they stopped. "I've just thought of an ending for my book," he said. "'And they lived happily ever after, until the end of their days.'"

"And so you shall, my old friend," Gandalf replied, his voice warm once again.

Bilbo came out the gate a moment later, letting it swing shut behind him. He didn't notice me sprawled out between the stone wall and the road, fortunately. Instead, he started singing, "The road goes ever on and on..."

"So you shall," Gandalf repeated in a murmur.

With the Hobbit's back safely turned, I stood and hopped over the wall, and walked to Gandalf. He was gazing after his pet thoughtfully. "I do hope you'll watch out for him," he said, still staring off into the distance. "I'm very fond of him."

I strapped my swords on; one blade on each hip. "This is child's play compared to my usual work." At his unconvinced grunt, I added, "Although, I'm usually _paid_ to trek halfway across Middle Earth."

Gandalf scowled at me, but it was halfhearted, and he pulled a worn pouch from the many folds of his robe. Handing it to me, he said, "I'll give you the other half in Rivendell. Or whenever we meet next, if I'm mistaken."

I raised an eyebrow, rather impressed with the weight of the pouch. "Where does a wizard like you get funding like this?"

Gandalf scowled again, and I got the sense he was getting genuinely irritated. I _do_ have that affect on people. "If you must know, it was a gift from Bilbo for the fireworks. Now, my favorite Hobbit is wandering the streets alone, in the dark."

I gave the pouch a light jingle. "I'm on it." And hopping over the stone wall one more time, I trotted after the Hobbit.

He hadn't gotten far, just to the bottom of the hill. He'd stopped singing, and was sticking mostly to the shadows, occasionally moving behind cover when another Hobbit was passing by. In the background, I heard the faint call of a young man: "Bilbo!...Bilbo!"

Baggins glanced over his shoulder at that, and gave a reluctant sigh, but he didn't turn back. That had been Baggins Jr., then. Frodo.

Bilbo walked for hours, and I trailed at a distance. He would, from time to time, glance over his shoulder, and I'd have to jump behind a tree or some such nonsense. Ridiculous as it is, I find it much easier to babysit someone when they don't know they're being babysat.

The road Bilbo followed wound its way between fields and into a forest. It wasn't a thick forest, but the trees were massive, and old. The very smell hinted that the forest was ancient. My legs began to grow tired; stealth is hard work! But finally, we came to the Brandywine River. Not a terribly wide river, but definitely deep and cold enough to require a boat. And luckily, no ferries would be running this late at night. But Bilbo waddled right up onto the dock, where another Hobbit was standing, holding one end of a rope. The other end led down into the water.

I internally groaned. No way. No bloody way under Eru's blessed sky.

"Thank you," Bilbo said to the other Hobbit, then took the rope and stepped down into the boat. Seating himself, he picked up the paddles and began to row himself to the opposite shore.

What in Morgoth's name was I supposed to do now?

I watched helplessly as Bilbo paddled away. I couldn't ask Bilbo's accomplice for a boat of my own; he would definitely suspect me and probably warn Gandalf's pet. That left me only one option.

I went down to the river, hiding behind the dock where the ground sloped to meet the water. Then I sat down and unlaced my shoes. After stuffing them into my satchel, I pulled off my socks and put those in, too. Finally, I stood and slowly waded into the water.

Cold!

I suppressed a shiver and waded deeper. Holding my pack up out of the water, I began dogpaddling, trying not to let my teeth chatter. Bilbo wasn't _that_ far ahead, and for a Hobbit, he was remarkably alert. It was unfortunate, really, that he was facing me to row toward the shore. The night was dark, but I had to keep a fair distance away.

Oh Mordor. A powerful tickle filled the back of my nose. Still kicking with my feet, I clapped my free hand over my nose and mouth just in time. I sneezed. Quietly, but in the midnight silence, I might as well have screamed, "Hey! Over here! Look at me!"

Bilbo frowned, and he began scanning the water. Mordor, oh Mordor, he was going to see me. I exhaled and sank beneath the surface, trembling. Then, reluctantly, I pulled my satchel underwater, as well.

I was going to get _so_ sick.

Long seconds passed, and my lungs burned for air. I went up, just letting my nose break the surface so I could take a breath. Then I rose a bit more and checked on the Hobbit. Bilbo was paddling away, humming to himself once more. I quietly dogpaddled after him.

When at last Bilbo reached the opposite shore's dock and tied his boat, I couldn't feel my feet at all. I waited until Bilbo was happily waddling down the road before I dared come out of the water. Cringing, I opened my waterlogged satchel and pulled out my waterlogged boots and equally waterlogged socks.

"Eru dammit," I whined under my breath, pulling my wet socks on. At least I couldn't feel them. Yet. "I _hate_ Hobbits!" I muttered.

"If she hates Hobbitses," came a new, raspy voice, "why does she follow Baggins, Precious?"

I froze.

"Shut up, shut up!" came the same voice. "Wouldn't want her to hear us. Gollum! Gollum!"

I shuddered and yanked my boots on. I wasn't the only person trailing Bilbo. And whoever this disgusting character was, he wasn't someone I wanted to deal with. Not tonight, at least. After hastily lacing my boots up, I stood, grabbed my satchel, and trotted after Bilbo.

Now, he wasn't the only one glancing over his shoulder.

The Old Forest freaked me out. The trees were so old, so bitter. Most of them hissed at Bilbo and me as we passed, and some whispered. Others reached their roots and branches toward us, trying to snag us for easy prey. Bilbo easily dodged their approaches, but I very nearly wasn't so lucky. While I dodged one branch swinging at my head, a small root wrapped around my ankle and almost tripped me.

After a couple of hours, we reached a clearing, the center well out of the trees' reach. Bilbo set his things down and walked around, gathering small sticks and dry leaves. Meanwhile, keeping an eye on him, I walked around the parameter, just out of sight, listening for a tree in a non-murderous mood, that I could sleep in.

" _Come ye closer, child of shadow. Thy bones beneath my roots will I crush."_

Nope, not that one. I shuddered and hurried to the next tree.

" _Alas, the Olde Forest diminishes...Thy fires consume my children; thy tools carve my lovers. Harm our people no more..."_

Probably as good as I was going to get. I went to the lamenting tree and mounted its roots, then rested a hand on its bark.

" _My people use only the sleeping trees for fuel and crafting, as do I. May I find safety in your branches tonight?"_

A long pause. Then: _"Ye are surely a child of the Earth, and pure of heart. Climb, Earthling, and be at peace."_

I patted the tree. _"Many thanks."_ I looked up, and frowned. The first branch was a long way away. Maybe I should've checked that before risking conversation with a potentially-dangerous, centuries-old tree.

" _Millennia,"_ the tree corrected me. _"And fear ye not. I will carry thee."_ The branch swung down and stopped beside me, and I gingerly stepped onto it, then sat down. The branch returned to its natural position, and the tree added, _"Rest, child. I shall sing ye to sleep."_

I listened quietly as the tree began a hauntingly beautiful tune of the first elves' arrival, and how they'd woken the trees, and taught them to speak. But the lullaby turned chilling as the tree sang of darkness falling over the lands, of the mortals' arrival and corruption, and the elves taking on a cruel attitude.

I rested as best I could, but I could not sleep. My feet were freezing cold, and my wet hair clung to my neck. I shivered violently, glaring at Bilbo who had built a tidy little fire and was contentedly smoking his pipe.

I hate Hobbits right now.

Bilbo continued on his miserable adventure as soon as dawn peeked through the treetops. I waited until he was a ways down the road, then I touched the branch I was sitting on. _"May I request assistance in getting down?"_

Silence. The tree must've gotten a talking-to from the others about being friendly with sentient creatures. I looked down and huffed. Mordor. I was a good twenty feet off the ground.

Well, there was no getting around it. I'd have to jump. I had no rope, nothing that could be used for a rope, and no other way down. I unhooked my satchel from my shoulder, and tossed it into the clearing. And watched it fall for far too long. Luckily, it wasn't carrying anything too fragile.

My swords, however, were a different matter. They weren't _delicate,_ per se, but they had cost me a lot of money and I liked them. I wouldn't try to hang onto them through the entire fall, but I _could_ drop them a little closer to the ground. For my own safety, I unstrapped them from my waist and held the away from me. Then I swallowed hard and scooted off the branch.

The wind caught my hair, and I relished the illusion that I was flying. But the ground approached quickly, so I released my swords and prepared for impact.

My feet hit first. I dropped into a roll, and flopped halfway across the clearing before the momentum faded. Pain flared up my legs from my ankles, and I groaned quietly, closing my eyes. Well...that probably couldn't have gone any better.

A loud hiss made my eyes snap open. Leaping at me was a mostly-naked...something.

"Where is it?" he shrieked, landing on top of me. His teeth sank into that sensitive area connecting my neck to my shoulders. With a surprised grunt, I punched his stomach. He wailed, and I threw him off.

He landed on all fours. "Where is the Precious?" he growled, glaring up at me with his nocturnal eyes.

"What in Morgoth's name are you talking about?" I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

He bared what few teeth he had. Eew. Had that thing just _bitten_ me?

I slowly circled toward my swords, him mirroring my movements. "Who are you?" I growled.

"Who are we?" he scoffed. "The question is, who are _you_?"

I smiled. "I am—" I dove, snatching up my swords, rolling, and leaping to my feet. "Your worst nightmare."

The creature gave a scream and galloped into the forest, on all fours like a dog. The trees reached for him as he passed, but he was too quick for them and escaped. Unfortunately.

I exhaled, then quickly strapped my swords back on. I had to catch up to Bilbo, before that, that _thing_ got him. Then I swung my pack onto my shoulder.

A dull throb emanated from where I'd been bitten. I touched it, then flinched when the pain spiked. My fingertips came away bloody. I needed to get that cleaned out, but it was more important that I keep up with Bilbo. Especially with that rogue _thing_ on the loose.

I straightened my collar and wiped the blood on my pants. The bleeding wasn't bad, and would stop soon. I'd find a chance to rinse it out from my canteen at some point. Then, whenever Bilbo decided to rest for awhile, I'd clean and bandage it properly.

We walked all day. At about mid-afternoon, a light drizzle started up, and it grew progressively heavier and heavier until we finally reached Bree a few hours after nightfall. Meanwhile, I had developed a cough, which became rather difficult to conceal as I followed Bilbo. He, however, just waddled along through the rain as though he wouldn't trade it for the world.

When we finally reached Bree, Bilbo boldly went to the front gate. I dropped back to stay hidden. Three knocks rang out, then a hinge creaked. "Ehh, a Hobbit? What be your business, this late at night?"

"Just going on a holiday," Bilbo replied.

"Aye," the gatekeeper agreed as he let Bilbo in. "I could use one, meself."

Bilbo patted the man on the forearm. "You should do what I did. Just...slip away."

"Eh. Can't. You never know what suspicious characters might get in without me here."

No kidding. While the man's back was turned, I left my hiding place and trotted to the wall. The gate was too narrow for me to get in unnoticed, so I would have to go over the wall itself. It was about ten feet tall, and made out of rough-hewn logs.

The climb wasn't terribly difficult, but once I reached the top, I faced a new challenge. How to get down. Without being seen and apprehended.

A little ways to the right was a small livery stable, and right out in the open being soaked through was a pile of hay. I frowned. Stupid humans. Didn't they know moldy hay was dangerous to horses? Oh well. It would make a good landing site.

I awkwardly traversed the narrow top of the wall, finally getting into jumping distance of the haystack. I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then I made the leap.

When I landed, I sank into soft the stack with a wet _squelch_. A new smell rose up around me, and I sighed. Manure. The humans hadn't set out good hay to get moldy; they'd set out soiled straw to...I dunno, soak into the rain water and wash up and down their streets?

"I hate Hobbits," I whimpered as I pulled myself and my satchel out of the muck. "And wizards," I added vehemently. "And humans and horses and straw and... _ughhhhh!_ "

Now. Off to find that despicable little Hobbit.


	4. Gandalf's Pet

**Chapter Three: Meeting Gandalf's Pet**

It took me two hours to find the blasted Hobbit. When I did, he was sitting in the pub area of a dingy inn, warming his bare feet by the fire and smoking. I wanted to stuff that bloody pipe up his nose. I was so _finished_ with this entire mission.

Content that the inconvenient little monster was safe for the time being, I went back outside. I located the nearest horse trough, hung my satchel on a hitching post, and jumped in. Swords and all. Cold, cold, cold! Mentally apologizing to whatever unsuspecting creature took a swig from this trough next, I sloshed off as much of the manure as I could. Then I got out, shook off like a dog, grabbed my stuff, and returned to the Inn at the Prancing Pony.

"Hello, lass," said the barkeep, a rather tall human with a kindly expression. "You look like you could use a seat by the fire and a proper meal."

I reluctantly nodded. Ordinarily I would turn down such luxuries; I always carried sustenance with me, and I rarely had the funds for a hot meal. But I'd just been paid. And lembas bread gets old after a few months of nothing but.

"That'll be two silver coins," he said. "But, go over to the fire and have a seat. You can pay when I bring your food."

"Thank you," I said, and trudged over to the fire. There were no unoccupied seats by the fire, though a good half-dozen or more semi-circled around the glow. Keeping my head down, I moved to the wall where the fire was situated, ironically behind the seat that Bilbo occupied. Leaning against the warm hearth, I shivered and tried not to draw too much attention to myself.

Then that little tickle came up in the back of my nose. And you know what? I had been stifling my sneezes and sniffles all day long. Here, I was just another invisible customer.

"AaaaaCHOOOOOO!"

Oh, that felt so good.

Bilbo twisted around in his seat, and I froze under his kind gaze. "Are you alright, miss?"

Was I _alright?_ How was I supposed to answer? _Terrible, thanks._ "I...uhh..."

"Here, lass," he said, standing and putting his pipe in his mouth. "Have a seat by the fire. You look positively exhausted."

Before I could refuse, he took my arm and pulled me around to the front of the seat, then gently pushed me in. I sank into the cushions, and shivered as his leftover warmth soaked into me. "Th-thank you," I murmured.

His eyes skimmed over me, worry etched across his features, and he said, "You look like you've had a bloody awful night."

I wearily looked him in the eye. "You have no. Freaking. Clue."

The barkeep came over, carrying a tray, and he set it in my lap. "Here you are, lass. You eat up, now."

I pulled Gandalf's worn money pouch from my satchel, all too aware of the alert gazes of the other men surrounding the fire. Glaring at them, I pulled out two silver coins and handed them to the barkeep. "Thank you," I said.

He left, and I dipped my bread crust into the steaming soup and took a bite. Yum.

Bilbo seated himself on the hearth and nibbled on the mouthpiece of his pipe. "So. Where are you from?"

I froze and glanced at him.

He shrugged and gave a chuckle. "I only thought to make conversation," he said gently.

I hesitated, then said in a curt tone, "Dale." I took another bite.

Bilbo's eyes brightened. "Really? What's it like these days?"

I swallowed, relishing the feeling of warm food wiggling down into my stomach. "Busy." I took a bite, and spoke through my food. "You're familiar with the area?"

"Oh-ho!" Bilbo spoke through a chuckle. "Yes. Well, I was. But that was sixty years ago. ..."

"That would've been about when Smaug burned down Laketown," I said.

"Aye," Bilbo replied, his voice nearly a whisper, his focus far away. "It was."

"Did you see it happen?"

"Nearly." He turned and gave me a sad smile. "I was in Erebor at the time."

"Erebor!" I exclaimed.

"Aye." His eyes took on a mischievous light. "Would you like to hear the story?"

"Yes!"

"Well then." He settled back and took a draw from his pipe. "It began...well, it began as you might expect it to begin. It began in a hole in the ground. Not a nasty, dirty hole, with worms and oozing smells—it was a Hobbit hole, with a full pantry, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home..."

I woke up in a warm bed, with a full tummy and sunlight streaming in through the window. Nothing about this room was familiar.

Mordor!

I leaped out of bed, and my foot caught on something. I tripped and fell flat on my face.

"Ow," I whimpered, and pushed myself up. The strap of my satchel had wrapped around my foot. I yanked myself free, then opened it up and looked inside. Everything was still there, including my money. My swords were leaning against the wall by the door. Good. Now, how had I gotten here?

I closed my eyes, replaying the events of the previous evening. Bilbo being kind to me, telling me a story. Me drifting off to sleep. He must've brought me here. Grabbing my things and hastily pulling my boots on, I left the room, went down a narrow hallway, and trotted down a rickety staircase. It led to the now-empty pub of the Inn at the Prancing Pony. The barkeep was polishing some pint mugs behind the bar.

"Ah, good morning, lass."

"Good morning," I replied. "How much do I owe you for the room?"

"Nothing at all, lass. The Hobbit paid for you."

I gave pause. It seems I'd greatly underestimated the kindness of Hobbits—mainly this one.

"Has he left yet?" I asked.

"Yes, miss, two or three hours ago."

Mordor. "Did he say which way he was headed?"

"No, miss."

"Okay. Thank you." I left the pub and went onto the muddy, overcrowded streets of Bree. After promptly leaving the sad settlement, I hit the road and headed east—toward Rivendell.

Please, Gandalf, be right. Just this once.

I paused only once to strap on my swords, then I broke into a run and chased after Bilbo.

I crossed through Chetwood at a full run and reached the far edge of Midgewater Lake before catching up with Bilbo in the early afternoon. A hot meal and good night's rest had done a lot for me, but I was spent by the time his short, waddly frame came into view. He was climbing the first of many hills in a massive plain.

You know what? Screw this ridiculous game of cat and mouse. We'd already met; there was no reason I couldn't babysit him under the pretense of a traveling companion. I paused for a short breather, then broke into a run again.

Bilbo was in a valley between two hills by the time I reached the peak of the first. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted, "Bilbo! _Bilbo!_ "

He stopped walking and turned to face me. I waved, motioning for him to wait for me, then began trotting down the hill. Misjudging one foothold in the steep hill, I tripped, and my exhausted legs buckled. I flopped most ungracefully to the bottom of the hill, stopping at Bilbo's hairy feet. Flushing a deep red, I glanced up at him. His expression was concerned, amused, and very, very confused.

I quickly picked myself up off the ground and brushed the dirt from my pants. Clearing my throat, I said, "Um. That's embarrassing."

"What are you doing here?" Bilbo exclaimed.

A little forethought would've been helpful here. I made a show of making sure I still had my satchel, and looking up the hill to make sure I hadn't dropped anything. Meanwhile, I was desperately forming a story. "I'm, uhh...I woke up right after you left, and I was disappointed that I didn't get to tell you thank you. For the room. Anyway, I'm headed to Rivendell—" I crossed my fingers, "and I saw you just up ahead, so I thought I'd catch up. Walk with you."

"Oh. Right." He flashed me a smile. "Though, I don't remember telling you my name...?"

Mordor. "You...mentioned it. While you were telling your story."

Bilbo frowned. "I'd forgotten..." Then he shrugged. "But I'm allowed to forget. I'm one-hundred eleven years old!"

We continued walking, and I gasped in fake surprise. "No! I thought, perhaps seventy-five or eighty because of your story, but you don't even look _that_ old."

He chuckled. "So I'm told." He sent me a side-glance. "What is your name, lass?"

I hesitated. Should I tell him? Would it raise too many suspicions? But, I felt bad for lying to him about my purpose here. "Amariel," I answered finally.

"An elvish name," Bilbo mused. "And yet, you're human...?"

"My parents lived in Laketown for most of their lives," I said, not meeting his gaze. "They were grateful to the Elves after the Battle of Five Armies."

"Remarkable," Bilbo murmured. "Why do you travel to Rivendell?"

I grinned. "My mom told me the king of Rivendell can see the future."

Bilbo chuckled. "Well, he isn't technically a king, lass, but he can see the future well enough."

And thus we traveled for the rest of the day, finally stopping for the night a few miles west of Weathertop.

"...And they were so busy arguing, whether to turn us on a spit or squash us each to jelly, that they didn't notice the sun creeping up over trees, and _poof!_ "

I jumped at his sudden sound affect.

"It turned them all to stone," Bilbo concluded with a content nod.

I cozily stretched my bare toes toward the fire, relishing the warmth. I was stupid not to have introduced myself to Bilbo at his birthday party, and traveled with him this way the entire time.

I gazed at the Hobbit, who was nibbling on the end of his pipe and looking up at the clear sky. Though Gandalf's pet _was_ quite unusual, it was hard to believe he'd willingly undertaken such a journey. Quietly, I asked, "Did you really travel with the dwarves, to retake Erebor?"

Bilbo slowly nodded. "Aye. Though, sometimes, I can scarcely believe it myself."

I laid down, pillowing my head with my satchel. "Would you tell one more story, before we sleep?" Of course, I would not be sleeping; I would be keeping guard. But Bilbo still couldn't know that side of my journey.

"One more," he agreed with a soft nod. "I'll tell you a story I scarecely mentioned the other evening. The tragic tale of Kili and Tauriel."

My heart squeezed. "Okay," I whispered.

Bilbo took a long, thoughtful draw from his pipe. "Kili was a prince of Erebor, the second-born nephew of Thorin, king under the mountain. Being the younger of the two, less was expected of him, and Kili was a bit more reckless than his brother.

"Tauriel was the captain of the guard in the Woodland Realm, but make no mistake, she was the outcast. For she followed her heart, regardless of the commands of her king.

"The two met when we were—" Bilbo chuckled abruptly, "attacked by a swarm of giant spiders. We would've been killed then and there, if the Woodland Elves hadn't shown up. I was able to slip away, but the dwarves were all captured.

"Something sparked that day, between Kili and Tauriel, something neither of them acknowledged until it was too late. The dwarves were locked away in King Thranduil's dungeon, and I understand Tauriel visited with Kili several times, from the other side of the cell door. Of course, Tauriel had her own admirer—the crown prince Legolas. And he grew very jealous of Kili, for the attention Tauriel gave him."

"Legolas," I murmured. The name rolled over my tongue easily, like a simple, beautiful melody.

"Kili was killed in the Battle of Five Armies, by the Pale Orc—a hideous creature determined to end Durin's line. Tauriel fought hard, trying to protect Kili, even as he lay dying. But even the Elvish captain of the guard couldn't save him.

"I often wonder what became of Tauriel, for elves only ever love once. And I often wonder what became of the Mirkwood prince, for his feelings were undeniable. Elves believe that all true love is a gift from Arda, but I sometimes think that love is just as much a curse, as it is a blessing."

I fought back tears. Stories of love lost, of heartache and broken dreams, they always affected me too deeply.

Bilbo looked at me, and his face softened. "Come now, it's in the past. Now get some sleep. We start off early tomorrow; I should very much like to reach Rivendell by nightfall."

"Ok-ay." My voice cracked, embarrassingly. Blushing a little, I curled up and wrapped my arms around myself, then closed my eyes. But while I feigned sleep, I strained to hear across the plains, listening as wildlife bedded itself down for the night.

At length, I heard Bilbo empty out his pipe and put it away, then settle down to sleep. Only when he began to snore quietly did I open my eyes and carefully sit up.

The tiny fire he'd built cast eerie shadows around our little campsite, but bathed it in a warm glow. I let my eyelids droop, listening to the crackle of the fire.

I must've fallen asleep, because I was awoken by a raspy whisper across the camp.

"He stole it! He _stole_ it from us!...Shut up! They're still asleep, Precious."

I froze, eyes still closed. It was that creature again! I would have to fight it off—but he didn't know I was awake. I had surprise on my side. Where were my swords? I lifted my eyelashes a millimeter, searching. There, just to my right, between me and Bilbo. I risked opening my eyes a tad more. The creature was crawling toward him, only a few feet away from the sleeping Hobbit.

Now or never.

With a battle yell that would impress a dwarf lord, I rolled, snagging my swords. Landing on my knees, I swung wildly at the creature.

The thing gave a startled screech and backpedaled out of my reach. Then, flopping over onto all fours, he galloped away as fast as he could go.

Bilbo, who was sitting up and rubbing his eyes, said, "What? What's happening? What was that?"

I exhaled, willing my pounding heart to settle. "I dunno," I answered, rocking back to sit on my rear. "But luckily, it scares easy. I don't think we'll have any more trouble tonight."

But as I moved to lay my swords down, the ground beneath me trembled. The tall grass quivered ever so slightly, and in the distance, animals fled.

"Bilbo," I said, frowning slightly. "Gather your things." I hastily pulled my boots on and slung my own satchel over my shoulder, then stood and strapped my swords on properly. Somewhere in the darkness, I could hear many feet trampling the earth. And those feet were fast approaching.

"Why?" he asked, grabbing his backpack and putting it on. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go," I answered. I dropped to my knees and shoveled handfuls of dirt onto the fire until it flickered out, leaving us in darkness. The marching was growing closer, and louder. My eyes quickly adjusted to the faint starlight, revealing a massive army approaching. "Do you have a weapon, by any chance?" I asked, my voice faint.

Bilbo pulled a short sword from his pack, grasping it tightly. The blade glowed a bright blue in the darkness.

"Orcs," he said, a maniacal grin spreading on his face.

"Glad you're excited," I muttered. And we started running.


	5. The Babysitter's Purpose

**Chapter Four: And, This is Why I'm Here.**

We stayed on the road and ran east, toward Rivendell. I estimated them to be a hundred strong. We should've been faster, since there were only two of us and we weren't carrying the heavy metal armor that the orcs were. Theoretically. In real life, Bilbo was old and not very fast anyway, and I was honor-bound to stay with him and protect him.

Actually...screw honor. I liked Gandalf's stupid pet, and Bilbo had been too kind for me to just abandon him.

When the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, we were maintaining a hundred yards between us and the army, running as fast as we possibly could but bone-weary. Occasionally, they'd fire an arrow or two at us, but we were managing to stay out of range. Barely.

"Amariel," he gasped, stumbling to a halt. "You go on. You can make it on your own, without me slowing you down."

"No," I said, just as winded. "Come on, keep running. We're almost to the bridge. That'll slow them down."

He shook his head. "We can't outrun them. Who are you trying to fool?"

"Myself! Now _come on_."

We ran for another hour, steadily losing ground to the orcs, before the Hoarwell River finally came into view, then the Last Bridge. It didn't escape me, the irony of the title.

"Listen to me," I puffed after we finally crossed the bridge. "Go to Rivendell. Send the Elves back. I'll hold these uglies off as long as I can." He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "It's our only chance."

Bilbo's brow furrowed. "No, no, you should go. You're faster than me, younger. I've lived a good life, a long life."

I shook my head, emphatically. "No. You're precisely what they want, and you're precisely what they cannot get. Now, stop arguing and _run!_ "

He hesitated, glancing back at the army. His eyes widened. "Look out!"

An arrow bounced off my arm, barely tearing my sleeve. It smarted, though. "Go!" I yelled. "I'll be fine."

Eyes filled with regret, Bilbo trotted off toward Rivendell.

I turned to face the army. The trick was in the bridge itself. With only a few seconds before the orcs started firing arrows that would _really_ hurt, I ran under the bridge and started reconstruction. I got soaked up to my underarms, but if this worked...I might make it to Rivendell alive.

When I finished, I sloshed out of the river, returning to the east side of Hoarwell. The orcs were a mere thirty or forty yards away now, and when I reappeared, some of them stopped running to shoot at me.

I turned and ran. Adrenalin coursed through my veins a mile a minute. I might survive this. I had a chance.

 _Twang!_

Pain exploded across my body. I crumpled to the road, my vision fading. Pain... exhaustion... I just wanted to close my eyes and give in...

No. I had to fight this. I forced my eyes to open, and I pushed myself to my hands and knees. A black arrow was embedded deep in the back of my right thigh. Gritting my teeth, I grasped the shaft and quickly snapped it off.

The agony redoubled, and my stomach rolled. On hands and knees, I ralphed every undigested bite of last night's dinner onto the hard-packed road, until nothing came up but stomach acid and stringy digestive fluid.

The sounds of a bridge collapsing, splashing, and a bunch of angry yelling drew my attention away from my lost dinner. I'd bought myself a few seconds. If I wanted to live, I'd have to move.

I forced myself to my feet, crying out as I placed weight on my right leg. Gritting my teeth, I broke into a hobbling run. Pain rippled through me like shockwaves, and tears streamed down my face. I would _not_ give up so easily. I would _not_ fall prey to a simple pack of orcs.

 _Twang!_

An arrow grazed the inside of my boot, bouncing off harmlessly, but tripping me. I fell hard, landing on my palms, badly skinning them. Trembling uncontrollably, I stood and staggered on.

Up ahead, maybe a quarter of a mile, was the Trollshaws forest. If I could just make it there...! Behind me, the orcs were shouting, regrouping. Their thunderous footsteps, I used as a metronome, driving me onward. My breaths came out a rasping wheeze, loud in my own ears. My heartbeat echoed as a blinding pulse in my leg. A deafening throb in my skull.

I barely comprehended the implications when my fingertips grazed the first tree of the Trollshaws. I just grasped the lowest limb and began to climb.

Arrows sank into the trunk all around me, one grazing my cheek. I barely noticed. I kept climbing, until I was so high that the tree limbs could barely hold me. Only then did I dare look down.

Blood was dripping from the branches I'd used as hand and footholds. And at the base, orcs were swarming around like ants, gazing up at me with their sickly yellow eyes. Several raised their bows and began firing at me. I ducked behind the tree trunk, and the arrows missed.

The largest of the orcs snarled something, and most of the orcs backed away from the tree. Several didn't. Those several held heavy swords with pickaxe-like protrusions from the ends. These ends, they began swinging at the base of the tree.

Tremors ran up the trunk with each impact, and the tree groaned. I stroked its bark, knowing this was the end, for both of us. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

The tree swayed, then slowly began to fall. For a moment, it felt like I was flying. Then impact. My head struck a thick branch. Then I saw only shadow.

I awoke suddenly, then suddenly wished I hadn't. Pain roared across my body, some places worse than others, if that was even possible. I had to physically bite my lip to keep from crying out. Slowly, I opened my eyes and took stock of my situation.

My weapons were gone, and my dagger was in my satchel, which was nowhere to be seen. I was sitting on the road, tied to the tree which had fallen across it, with my back propped against the rough bark. My head throbbed, and agonizing pain shot through my leg when I tried to move it. So, the good news was that I wasn't dead. Bad news was, I wished I was.

All around, orcs were loitering uselessly, leering at me.

Wait. _Why_ was I still alive?

"Hey." I used my nose to point at one orc. "You really need a new dentist." I pointed to another one. "And you. I'd have to recommend using a sponge when you bathe. Maybe your next wife will stay with you."

They hissed, and some raised their swords threateningly. Not that they were intelligent enough to understand me. The sound of my voice must've angered them.

"Move!" bellowed a really, _really_ big orc. The others scrambled out of his way, and he stalked toward me, stopping only when he towered directly over me. Eru, he was almost as tall as Men! Placing a booted foot on my injured leg, he growled, "Where is the creature Gollum?"

Wincing, I said, "Never heard of a gollum, princess. If you're looking for a cosmetologist, though, there are a couple of good ones in Gondo—"

He stomped on my leg, sending lightning bolts of pain up my spine. I screamed. When my cry silenced, the orcs were staring at me intently. The sick monsters were feeding on my torture.

The orc standing over me smiled, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. "You're going to be fun." He glanced over his shoulder and called, "Rope!" Then he motioned for one of the others to untie me.

If I was to escape, now would be the time. But I was in no condition to fight, and even less so to run. I'd have to ride this one out.

I was roughly untied and yanked to me feet. The blood rushed from my head and I began to sway, but I was held up. I watched silently, dreading, as they found a thick tree branch and looped the rope over it. The orcs dragged me over to the loop, while one particularly gifted individual struggled to tie a noose.

I smirked and turned to orc leader. "You should feel honored to serve alongside the best of your incompetent infantiles."

He backhanded me across the face as hard as he could. I winced, but grinned when he rubbed his hand.

All too soon, the noose was ready, and I was shoved over to stand beneath it. My hands were tightly bound behind me, and the rope was jerked around my neck. I closed my eyes and bowed my head. Sometimes, the future was all too predictable, and this was definitely one of those times.

A foot went into my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. I crumpled, hitting the end of the noose, choking off my shallow gasps. I barely managed to get my good leg under my weight and push myself up. Then I glared at the orc leader. "Was that really necessary?"

"You will look at me as you die," he growled. Then he nodded to the orcs holding the other end of the rope. "Pull."

The noose tightened, cutting off my breathing. I stretched my toes downward, trying to reach the ground. I failed, of course. I was too high. I needed air! My legs flailed as I desperately tried to breathe.

"Tie it off," he grunted. Then he called, "Spear!" A spear was brought to him, and pointing the tip upward, he brought the spear underneath me. His beefy hand grabbed my right foot and placed it on the spear tip. Finding something to stand on, I forced my weight into my injured leg, bringing shockwaves of pain, but opening my windpipes.

Air! Glorious _air_!

The implications hit a moment later. Agony shot through me, radiating from my thigh. I sank back into the noose for a moment, until the overwhelming need for oxygen drove me back onto the end of the spear. I cried out as it tore through my shoe, and went into my foot. But, I could live without my foot. I _had_ to breathe.

Then it hit me. The cruelest part of death, is the hope to survive.

I should end this. _All_ of this. Kick the spear away, refuse to play this monster's game and just _die_. But, of course, I couldn't. Even _I_ couldn't give up that little shred of hope.

 _Thunk._

An arrow impaled the orc leader's neck, and eyes wide with shock, he collapsed. Even before the other orcs could comprehend what was happening, another barrage took out a generous handful of the monsters.

Was I really seeing what I was seeing?

Good news always comes with bad news, though. Bad news was, without the orc leader to hold the spear vertical, the spearhead was still embedded in my foot, but I was officially without oxygen.

The orcs rallied, grabbing their swords and whatever they could find. They even grabbed _my_ swords. I scowled. For a herd of overgrown, over-aggressive pigs, they could mount a defensive fast.

The elves came out of nowhere. Falling upon the orcs from all directions, they used longbows and broadswords alike.

Okay guys. Take your time. Anytime this Age would be fabulous.

An orc holding a sword charged at a dark-haired ellon with a longbow. The ellon shot at another target farther away, then turned at the last minute. He dropped into a crouch as the orc swung, then shot directly into the creature's forehead. Then, pointing upward, the ellon fired another arrow. At me.

It sailed over my head, severing the rope. I fell, a mind-numbing pain radiating from my foot. I barely even felt the impact. My vision began to fade.

Wait. Shouldn't I be breathing?

Hands touched my shoulders, rolling me onto my back. The noose was tugged away from my throat, and strong fingers forced my mouth open. Something warm pressed over my lips, and air pushed into my lungs.

My eyes flew open, and I gasped. Sweet Lothlòrien, it felt good to breathe!

"Whoa, there," said the ellon kneeling over me. He held my head in one hand, and his other hand was pressed to my stomach, holding me still. It was the same ellon that had shot the rope. Around us, the elves were piling orc bodies to be burned, and removing the tree from the road.

Then I recognized my rescuer.

I groaned. "Definitely not one of your better ideas, buddy."

"What was I supposed to do, let you hang?" Elrohir argued as he untied me. "What are you even doing here, anyway?"

I scowled. "Spelunking."

Elrohir glared at me. "When are you _not_ spelunking?"

I gave pause. It was a valid question. "When I'm running from Beorn," I answered finally. A new thought hit me, and I grabbed the ellon's forearm. "Bilbo. The Hobbit. Is he safe?"

"Exhausted," Elrohir answered, his tone a little softer. "And without doubt very worried."

I exhaled and let myself relax. "Thank Eru," I murmured. "What took you so orcking long?" I exclaimed suddenly. "I could've crawled to Rivendell in the time it took for you to rescue me!"

"Then why didn't you?" he smoothly countered.

"I was _detained_ , in case you hadn't noticed." I frowned. "Where are my swords?"

Elrohir sighed. "We'll find them. Please, do not try to move."

"I want my swords!"

"As you wish," he said, amusement showing through his concern. He turned and shouted to the others, "Watch for two matching swords!"

An elleth trotted over, carrying my swords, and presented them to Elrohir.

"Those are mine," I said, trying to reach up and snag them. The resulting pain was overwhelming, and I fell back. Mordor, I hated being injured.

Elrohir placed a steadying hand on my shoulder, then handed me the weapons. "Here you are. Now please, rest."

I took my beloved swords, but where was my dagger? My eyes widened. I'd left it in my satchel. I caught the glance of the elleth. "I want my satchel, too."

She shook her head. "We haven't found a single satchel. None of the orcs were carrying anything of that nature."

"Check the tree," I answered desperately. "It might've gotten tangled in the branches when it fell."

Elrohir's eyes rounded. Motioning for the elleth to follow my directions, he said, "You mean to say that you were _in_ the tree when it fell?"

I pointed to what must've been a goose egg on my head. "How did you think I got this, genius?"

He smirked—or grimaced; I couldn't tell which. "With you, the possibilities are endless."

"I choose to take that as a compliment," I retorted in a snide voice he'd learned to love years ago.

He gave a light snort. "You do that, Eda."

The same elleth returned, my satchel in her hands. Tears of relief poked at my eyes as she handed it to Elrohir, who handed it to me. I tore open the flap and dug around inside until my fingers touched the familiar hilt. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed, "Thank Illùvatar."

As she handed it to Elrohir, she eyed me warily. "How did you survive such a fall?" she demanded.

Elrohir winced.

I gave that elleth the dirtiest glare I could. "The difference between my business and yours, is that my business is _mine_ , and your business is _yours_."

Taken aback, the elleth gave Elrohir a quick bow and hurried away.

"You need not answer this if you do not want to," Elrohir began, handing me the satchel, "but what do you carry that is worth such worry?"

"My half-payment," I answered immediately. Then my eyes widened. "Take me to Rivendell. Gandalf might already be waiting for me!"

"I will take you to Rivendell," Elrohir agreed, "but whether Mithrandir is there or not, you will not be receiving any visitors in the healing room for some time."

I sighed, but didn't protest. Actually, a soft bed sounded fabulous right now. And it would be free. How could I complain?

Around us, the Elves had finished stacking the orc bodies and weapons, and the tree had been moved from across the road. "We'll be returning to Rivendell soon," Elrohir said, scooting down to my feet. "I must remove the spear from your foot in order to transport you."

I nodded, taking two handfuls of grass. "I'm ready."

He grasped my boot in one hand and the shaft of the spear in the other. Then, in one sharp movement, he jerked the spearhead out.

I cried out. After a moment, the pain mercifully faded to a throbbing ache, and I took a deep breath. The other Elves had gathered around, and were watching quietly. It was uncanny, how alike Elves and orcs were in some ways. While orcs were fascinated with pain because it fed their bloodlust, Elves were fascinated with pain because they did not understand mortality.

Elrohir called for his horse, then picked me up and placed me on the saddle. I winced at the movement, but sighed in contentment when he swung up behind me. When he put a steadying arm around my waist, I leaned my head back to rest on his shoulder.

"Before we reach Rivendell," he said cautiously, "you should know something."

"What?" I twisted my neck to meet Elrohir's gaze.

"I'm betrothed."


	6. Rivendell's Bachelor

**Chapter Five: Plan B (Meaning Elladan)**

Eru dammit, that did _not_ fit with my plans for this visit. I exhaled sharply and faced straight ahead. "So that's it? What we had is just...gone?"

"We never really had anything, Eda," he said gently. "You're like a sister to me."

I scowled. "Which is why you kissed me on the mouth. Frequently."

A faint smile played on his lips. "I kiss Arwen."

" _Eww!_ I'm telling Aragorn."

He chuckled. "I meant on the cheek...you'd do anything to split them apart, wouldn't you?"

"Yep."

"Well, it's no use. He already knows."

I huffed. "So who's the lucky elleth?"

He motioned to the elleth that had delivered my dagger and satchel. "Her name is Rusceth Faenien. She came all the way from Lothlòrien for our union."

"And Elladan—he is already married?"

Elrohir's tone took on a darker tone. "He wishes not for romantic company."

 _But I am no elleth,_ I thought smugly.

Plan B, here I come.

Two days later, I hobbled down the halls of Rivendell, freshly dressed in, well, in a dress. Without trousers, I was forced to leave my swords in my room—which I'd been given only minutes ago, having been thrown out of the healing room. But, refusing to be weaponless, I'd strapped on my belt and the sheath for my dagger. I disliked openly carrying weapons, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

My bare feet padded the stone steps unevenly as I limped up the staircase. My old, comfortable boots had been thrown away, since they'd been badly damaged—my right one altogether irreparable. The Elves had given me a pair of shoes, but they were flat slip-ons that served little purpose, except to cover one's feet. I would not wear such disgracing things. I'd just have to procure some new boots before I left Rivendell.

And if Elrond doesn't like it, Elrond can go to Mordor.

Finally, I reached a final staircase, leading up through the center of a mountain into. At the top of the staircase were two doors, one on the left and one on the right. As I'd been instructed, I entered the one on the right.

It was a balcony with a roof and pillars, overlooking the land outside of Rivendell—the sheer mountainside, and sprawling fields below. At the center of the balcony stood a table surrounded with chairs. A small meeting room, then. Lord Elrond, who had summoned me here in the first place, stood at the far side with his back to me, looking out over the land.

"Greetings, Amariel Hethurineth," he said, turning to face me. "Why have you returned?"

I limped over to him, relishing his expression of discomfort as I drew uncomfortably close. Standing on tip toes, because he was at least two feet taller than me, I threw my arms around his neck. "Elrond, mellon nin! Didn't you miss me?"

"No." He allowed me to embrace him for a moment longer, then placed his hands on my sides and removed me from his personal space. "I did not."

A direct answer from him was _not_ a good sign.

"I summoned you here for two reasons," Elrond said. "The first is because there is someone who is very eager to see you." He motioned for me to follow him, then he strode from the meeting room, across the hall, and into the other doorway.

We entered the pinnacle of Rivendell—a large, open room with a balcony overlooking the entire city. Afternoon sunlight streamed freely into this room, revealing a few elegant armchairs and several ancient swords hanging on the walls. Gawking at one such sword was Bilbo Baggins.

"Bilbo!" I exclaimed, hobbling over to him.

He turned, and his face lit up. "Eda!" I leaned down so he could hug me, and I flashed a smirk in Elrond's direction.

 _See? Not all of us are coldhearted antisocials._

Bilbo and I pulled apart, and he said, "I was worried about you. They wouldn't let me visit you in the sick room, and I was afraid..." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

"And yet," Elrond interjected, "even if she hadn't survived, she _did_ accomplish her mission."

Bilbo frowned. "What mission?" He turned to me. "What is he talking about?"

I sighed. Lord Elrond just couldn't let me live in peace, could he?

"It's true," I said. "Gandalf hired me to look after you during your holiday."

Bilbo's head drooped, and his brow furrowed. "I should have suspected something along those lines." A moment passed, then he looked at me and exclaimed, "Why didn't you just _tell_ me?!"

I cut my gaze to the floor. "I don't know...it's easier, I suppose."

"For you, or for me?"

Tears poked at the back of my eyeballs. "Both, I'd imagine," I replied, my voice a little hoarse.

"So all the things you told me—about yourself, about your reasons for coming here—are all lies?"

I swallowed. "Pretty much."

A moment of silence passed. I listened to the rush of the waterfall below, trying to distract myself. It didn't work. Finally, Bilbo sighed. "Forgive me if I'm a bit upset. I'd thought we were friends." And he quickly waddled from the room.

I rounded on Elrond. "What was that for?" I cried. A tear fell, sliding down my cheek before I could brush it away and hide it. Mordor, I hated crying.

"He needed to know," Elrond responded stoically. "You should be grateful, for now you aren't obliged to reinforce the fabrication you've created." His voice lowered to a disgusted mutter. "King of Rivendell, indeed."

A slight smile refused to be hidden, even through my tears. "You have to admit, it was a nice touch."

"If your goal is to appear naive and _painfully_ ignorant, then yes."

I cleared my throat, swallowing back that sudden uprising of emotion. "I believe that was the intention, yes." I swallowed again and gently pulled at my eyelashes—something I found calming, for some reason. Then I said, "You mentioned there were two reasons for calling me here?"

"Yes." Elrond seated gracefully himself on one of the armchairs, and motioned for me to sit across from him.

I flopped down on the seat sideways, leaning against one arm and hooking my knees over the other. Wishing away all traces of the earlier heaviness, I said in a reproving tone, "Did you look into my future, m'lord?"

"No."

Two straight answers in less than five minutes! Perhaps it was an omen. Not a good one.

"And yet," Elrond said, his dark eyes drilling into mine, "I saw it regardless. You see, the future is not a fixed thing. There are many possibilities, many outcomes from the many choices that we make on a daily basis.

"The small things, the futures that could easily vanish with the slightest deviation from a certain path, appear hazy to me—very difficult to see or understand. But some futures are much more resilient, some almost impossible to change."

I sighed. "The bottom line, please?"

A small exhale escaped Elrond's nose, but that was his only outward sign of his irritation. "You have many possible futures."

"Obviously. Like, am I gonna chase after Elladan this visit?"

"Without a doubt," Elrond grumbled.

I crossed my legs and tapped the leather seat back with my fingers. "Elrohir told me of his elder brother's disinterest in ellith. Perhaps, if you're wanting Elladan to marry, he would settle for something a little more... _unusual_."

Elrond chuckled. "You balance on the edge of a knife, venturing into this territory."

"Oh, no, my lord," I replied with a bright smile. "I jumped off the blade a long time ago."

"Which would explain why you continue forward with all the poise of an inebriated Oliphant." He had such a way with words.

My smile darkened. "Water's nice off the deep end."

Lord Elrond eyed me, his expression nearly void of emotion. Nearly. His jaw ticked. "I suppose it didn't occur to you that your behavior does not encourage me to betroth my son to you."

"With all those ellith lining up to ask for his hand, I had to do _something_ different. Admit it, I'm memorable."

"You are, indeed," he replied, without the slightest trace of amusement. "But back to the matter at hand. A number of your futures directly influence the entirety of Middle Earth."

I scoffed. "You're kidding, right?"

Lord Elrond's expression was deadly serious. "Have you ever known me to _kid_?"

Wincing at his tone, I said, "I'll take that as a no, then."

His glare faded to a dull, unfocused gaze over my head. "Leave me," he murmured.

"Lord Elrond?" I asked, straightening in my seat. "Are you all right?"

He gave a faint nod of his head and waved his hand, motioning vaguely for me to get out. "Leave." Officially creeped out—and confused as Mordor—I stood and headed for the door. As I entered the hallway, Elrond's voice echoed after me. "And stay away from my son!..." A soft groan, then, "I know you won't. ..."

I rolled my eyes and began limping down the stairs.

It took an excruciatingly long time to get anywhere, since my right foot was throbbing monstrously. So when I reached the room holding the Shards of Narsil, I stopped. The Shards were beautiful, almost silvery in the low light of the room. And even after two and a half thousand years, the edges glinted with a dangerous sharpness.

I trailed my fingers over the cold, sleek metal. Not the edge; I wasn't that stupid. But along the broad side of the blade. Admiring its fine make, and a little awestruck at its historical significance.

Funny; if Sauron hadn't stepped on the blade and broken it, Narsil would never have cut the Ring from his hand. Narsil would've been just another ownerless sword on a desolate battleground. Narsil wouldn't be glowing beneath my touch now.

And so, some things must be broken to become whole.

I shook my head at myself. Too many metaphors weren't good for my mental health. And so, pushing aside my analytical inclinations, I continued to limp to my room.

It was a pretty little place, situated just off a walkway carved into the mountain. On the other side of the guardrail was a magnificent view of the Rivendell waterfall, and valley below. The room itself was also carved into the mountain, dimly lit by little torches all around. Straight ahead from the door was a luxurious bed, then in the opposite corner was a small bathtub. Directly to the right was a vanity mirror and wardrobe.

I sat on the edge of my bed and propped my right ankle up on my left knee to check my throbbing foot. A dark stain had spread across the bottom of the light bandage, and I sighed. Eru, it was rough being mortal.

I decided a nice hot bath, a meal in bed, then a good night's rest was in order for the rest of the day. I called for a maid to begin setting my plans to motion.

With my belly full of warm Elvish food, my wet hair combed back, and my wounds freshly dressed and bandaged, I pulled on the nightgown the maids had left for me and collapsed into the plush bed. My dagger was stashed away under my pillows, and my swords were propped up against the wall beside the bed—all within easy reach, just in case.

I closed my eyes and sighed blissfully. Life was good.

I couldn't tell if a minute had passed, or an hour, but a noise outside my door made my eyes snap open. It wasn't a loud noise; it was hushed. And that's what worried me. I snagged my knife and hid it in the sleeve of my nightgown—not ideal, but it would have to do. Then I silently lifted my swords and slipped out of bed.

My door swung open, and a bowman burst in. His face was shrouded with shadows and his long, dark hair, but his eyes glinted in the low light. They found me, and in one smooth movement, he lifted his bow. Took aim, and fired at me.

With some crazy burst of reflex, I brought my swords up. Scissored the arrow in half before it could touch me. Where had _that_ come from? But I didn't have time for that. The man was already aiming at me again.

I dropped and rolled toward him. He fired over my head. I came back up onto my feet within sword range, and attacked.

He tossed aside his bow and drew a sword of his own. Our blades clashed. It took both of mine to ward off his, and it wasn't long before I was losing ground.

I could barely move my legs because of the blasted nightgown, and my height was a major disadvantage. I was pretty much limited to swinging at Daddy Longlegs' shins. He, on the other hand, was the perfect height for beheading me.

I blocked two rapid-fire attacks, feigned an attack of my own, then jumped onto the edge of the bathtub. Whoa—slippery! I barely balanced in time to block another swing. His next advance, though, knocked me backwards. I stepped back onto the opposite edge. Lost my balance. Fell.

The ellon easily vaulted over the bathtub, closing the distance between us. I leaped up, barely noticing the pain in my leg. But the ellon quickly knocked one of my swords away.

Mordor. That wasn't good.

I attacked with a new urgency, trying to figure out how to get my dagger out where I could put it to use. The ellon easily parried my swings and stabs, finally knocking my other sword away. Then he stopped. "Where is your captive?" he growled.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I backed away until my shoulders bumped the wall. Then I moved my hands behind my back and began feverishly working to get my dagger out. The handle kept getting caught on the ribbons and lace. I would have to rip it out...but at the right time.

The ellon closed the space between us. Placing his sword at my throat, he growled, "Don't play games with me. I followed a blood trail."

I ripped the knife free and pressed the tip to his stomach. "Yield." There might've been a touch of smugness in my tone. Just a touch.

Surprise showed in the ellon's dark eyes, but he lowered his sword.

"Who are you?" I exclaimed.

"Elladan Elrondion," he replied, a defensive edge to his voice. "Who are you?"

It took me a moment to process. Then I started laughing. You know how it is; something _not_ funny strikes you in a certain way at the right time and it's hysterical. Lowering my knife, I said between giggles, "I'm Eda!"

"Eda?" he exclaimed. "Meaning the Eda that disappeared for ten years without a trace or a reason why?"

"Yes!" I tossed my dagger onto my bed and threw my arms around Elladan's neck. Sweet Lothlòrien, _somebody's_ gotten their nose out of a book and muscled up. Pulling him down to my height so that I could whisper in his ear, I said, "What are you doing in my bedchambers, Elrondion?"

He tensed and pulled away. "I told you. I followed a blood trail. ...?"

"Oh." I gave a dismissive gesture. "That was me. My foot," I clarified.

"Oh." Elladan cleared his throat and sheathed his sword. "Forgive me, Eda. I did not mean to intrude."

I gave a little bow. "You are forgiven." As he stooped to pick up his longbow, I added, "Visit me again sometime."

Elladan gave me a disapproving frown, then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

I gazed after him, a little smile playing on my lips. I wondered if Elrond foresaw our little exchange. He probably had.

Poor Elrond.


	7. Bored Equals Dangerous

**Chapter Six: Bored Equals Dangerous.**

I had officially had enough of dresses.

And ellyth and gossip and tea parties and delicate little crochet hooks...even chitchat of the most elligible bachelor ellyn grew very old, _very_ quickly.

It had been three days since Elladan's surprise visit to my bedchamber, and I hadn't seen him since. Not once.

I. Was. _Bored_.

I'm sure Elrond got quite a chuckle out of throwing away my old clothes and leaving me with nothing but the dresses provided by the seamstresses.

At least I still had my weapons. In my moments of greatest boredom, I comforted myself by practicing my form and swings on the bedpost. Then I spent hours sharpening my blunted blades.

Let it never be said that I didn't try to be productive.

But finally, that afternoon, I was going to do _something_. And if I ruined my dress...well, it was Elrond's fault for not getting me a proper pair of trousers. So I grabbed my weapons and went down to the training arena.

The repeated clash of blades was like a cool drink of water in the bowels of Mordor, or a deep breath of air to a drowning man. I went into the arena and basked in its aura of used weaponry. On one end, pairs of elves sparred with swords, while on the other end, individuals held longbows up, quietly taking aim at faraway targets.

There, I spotted a lone ellon. Tall, broad shoulders, and dark hair hanging down a few inches below his shoulders. His back was to me, but I had no doubt of his identity. He silently released an arrow, and it sank into a target at least a hundred yards away, splitting another arrow in half.

So concentrated...I smirked. I could fix that.

I walked across the arena, past Elladan, and toward the swordfighters. There weren't any ellith practicing—I was the only female in the arena. Not that this bothered me; if the ellith of Rivendell were content to sit on their behinds and crochet doilies, well, it was their loss.

I, on the other hand, needed some action.

As I approached, the ellyn sparring together paused to look at me. I flashed them a smile and pulled my swords from their sheaths, dropping the leather on the floor to the side. Then I kicked off my worthless shoes.

I glanced between two ellyn that had been practicing a moment ago, then lifted my swords. "On guard." I waited for them to raise their swords in response, then attacked them both.

Ah, it felt so good to swing at some _one_. And to have them swing back. I whirled, blocking one ellon's attack while thrusting at the other. They were good, and I was forced to move my feet a lot. But, they hardly compared with Elladan, and I managed to keep them at bay. Swing, block, thrust, repeat. Make no mistake, I despised the dress I wore, but there was a flare for the dramatic in the way the skirts billowed around my legs with every turn. Filled with the sheer joy of a good spar, I swung at a third ellon standing to the side.

While I was busy blocking the swings from two of the ellyn, the other kicked my feet out from beneath me. I fell backward, landing hard on my backside. The tip of a blade touched my throat. "Yield," the third ellon said.

I searched for a way, _any_ way to keep fighting, but my swords had come out of my hands and were just out of reach. The other two ellyn stood over me as well, ready to keep me from coming back up. So I reluctantly nodded. "I yield."

The ellon moved his sword away from my throat, then offered a hand to help me up. I accepted his assistance, and he pulled me to my feet. "Well fought, my lady," he said, bowing slightly.

"Thank you, my lord," I replied, nodding in return. "You, as well." I acknowledged the other two ellyn, and they returned the gesture and stepped away.

A crowd had gathered around and apparently seen my graceful beached-whale fall. Close to the back stood Elladan, still holding his longbow, his dark eyes both curious and cautious. As the crowd dispersed, he stood still, and soon, he and I were the only ones in the arena not doing anything.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes—he was nearly as tall as his father—then I averted my gaze and bent to pick up my swords. When I straightened, Elladan was still standing there, watching me.

"You fight well," he said finally, his voice a rich baritone.

"Thank you," I answered, picking up my belt. I strapped it around my waist, but left the leg straps dangling, because, well, the dress. I sheathed each of my swords, then pulled my shoes on.

"What are your skills in archery?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

I barked a short laugh. "Horrible."

His mouth quirked up on one side. "Have you ever tried to learn?"

"On several occasions," I replied miserably. "I'm no good at it."

One dark eyebrow lifted, and he said, "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

My heart thumped a little harder, and I grinned. "As you wish, Elladan Elrondion."

Moments later, he handed me a weapon. "Hold the bow in your left hand, and pull the string back with your right." My fingers curled around the finely-carved wood uncertainly, and at my hesitation, he sighed. "Well, go on."

I raised the bow so that it pointed downrange. Then I tugged at the bowstring. It refused to budge. I pulled again, with the same results. Hiding the flush crawling up my neck, I hauled back on the string, hardly causing the bow to bend at all.

Elladan hid a smirk, then placed his hands over mine, reaching over me just as much around me. With his added strength, the string came back easily. "Now," he murmured, his breath stirring my hair. "Imagine an arrow running from your fingertips and pointing at the target."

The visual I got instead was a bit different. It was of the handsome ellon standing directly behind me, whispering in my ear. Excited chills ran down my spine.

I was jolted from my daydream when he returned the string to its resting position, it pulling my own hand along. Elladan reached behind him, and a moment later brought an arrow to the string. His hand cupped mine as he positioned the arrow, and his fingers laced between mine as he pulled the string back once more.

"Close your left eye," he instructed, "then sight down the length of the arrow and look at the very center of the target."

I obeyed. I could already feel the success of the shot, somewhere deep in my chest.

A sudden exhale from Elladan brushed against my ear, tickling it. I flinched, just as he released the arrow.

 _Twang!_

The arrow flew across the room diagonally, finally sinking into the target's wooden stand at the far end of the arena. About fifty Elves turned to look at us. I pulled out from between Elladan's arms and to the side, leaving him to hold the bow alone. To receive their amused attention alone.

Elladan sighed and shot me a slightly irritated glance. "That will take me about three decades to live down, you know."

"I know," I said with a grin. "But, three decades is a lot longer to me than it is to you."

He rolled his eyes, then in one fluid motion, he took an arrow from his quiver, set it to the string, drew back, and fired. It split the last arrow in half, but did nothing to wipe the smirks off the other ellyn' faces.

"Come back tomorrow morning," Elladan said, not looking at me. "You sorely need the practice."

I gave a flippant curtsy. "Indeed I do, m'lord." Turning away, I gathered my things and left the training arena, aware of the gazes following me out of sight.

As the front gate came into view, a tall figure in a pointed gray hat grasped the hand of Lord Elrond in a farewell and swung aboard a gray horse. The horse spun on its haunches and bolted toward the gate.

"Wait!" I cried, running toward the gate.

Elrond held his hand up. "Do not attempt to stop him. Mithrandir must return to the Shire with haste."

My shoulders drooped. "He was supposed to pay me," I mumbled.

"He shall return," Elrond said gently, placing his hand on my head. I was short enough that the shoulder wouldn't work so well. "In the meanwhile, is my eldest son and heir not enough entertainment for you?" Elrond raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.

I frowned. How was I supposed to answer that? I settled on a tactic that usually works pretty well for me. "It was his fault. _He_ came into _my_ chambers."

Elrond sighed. "Come. I had something made for you."

"What?" I asked.

"Come and see," he replied.

I followed him to the seamstress's shop, where he led me in. The grouchy old elleth was nowhere to be seen, but Elrond strode over to the orders were to be picked up, and selected a certain one. Coming back to me, he said, "Here you are."

At his encouraging glance, I tore open the package. Black material glided easily across my fingertips as I unfolded it. A black sweater. Another folded item fell out, and when I moved to pick it up, it separated again, revealing black trousers, black gloves, a black hood, and a black mask.

An amused smile played about Elrond's lips—probably because of the awestruck and delighted expression that was doubtless plastered across my face. "I had some new shoes prepared for you, as well, fashioned after the design of your old shoes."

I threw my arms around the old ellon's waist. "Thank you thank you _thank you!_ "

"I know, I am too generous," he said, sighing and patting my back.

"No you aren't," I protested. "Every one of your gifts are completely necessary. You just give them ahead of time." I winked up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Just bear in mind that this is not considered modest apparel for a young woman such as yourself. And please, don't hurt anyone."

"I won't," I murmured, picking up the outfit and examining the fine make. "At least," I shot him a mischievous grin, "not permanently."

Late that afternoon, I paced in my room. I was wearing my new outfit, and though it fit perfectly, I couldn't relax. My thoughts kept drifting back to Bilbo, to our last conversation and what he said. Eru blast it all, I felt... _guilty_. I didn't like it, not in the least.

I sat down on my bed and pulled my knife from my sleeve easily, marveling at the perfect design of the sleeve to allow such access. Then I admired the knife itself, as I'd done many times before. It was only a hunting knife, but it had saved my life multiple times. Its blade held a razor-sharp edge longer than any other knife I've crossed, and its handle fit my small hand as though it had been tailor-made.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I was trying to distract myself. And it was working...but was that what I _wanted_? Did I want to ignore my...my...

"Conscience," I whispered.

It had been years since I'd thought I even had one. A decade or more since I'd felt its sting. And though it hurt, somehow, it felt good. It felt good to know I wasn't as heartless as I'd thought.

And you know what? I was going to apologize. Now, before I lost the courage and rationalized my way out of it. I hid my knife in my sleeve, stood, and walked out the door. As I moved down the walkway, I pulled my hood up, concealing my hair and the top of my face. There's something about wearing a hood that made me feel _awesome_.

Now, there was the slight matter of _finding_ Bilbo. Rivendell is too big to search room-by-room. However, I decided that Elrond probably had him staying in one of the open sunrooms close to the top of the waterfall. So, finding my shadows, I began to climb.

The sun was beginning to set when I reached the sunroom level. Most of the rooms had drawn heavy curtains across the open walls for privacy, and I sighed. I was probably too late. It wouldn't surprise me if Bilbo was the early-to-bed type.

 _Maybe it's for the best,_ my inner coward said. _After all, he's angry at you. Rightfully so._

 _Maybe_ , I reluctantly agreed. I sighed and sat down on an ornate wrought-iron bench and stared at the waterfall. The bleeding light of sunset lit up the droplets as they cascaded for what seemed like miles, down into the river below.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" came a voice to my left. I startled a bit, not expecting Bilbo to appear, standing at my elbow. I bit my lip and looked up at him, searching his expression for anger but finding none. Still...

"I, umm..." I faced the waterfall again, fidgeting. "I came up here to apologize. To you. For...you know. Lying. I had my reasons—" I glanced at him, "—but I _am_ sorry."

"Eda," he said, his voice pained. Then he gave a sharp sigh. "Or should I call you Amariel?"

I winced. "Please, call me Eda." At his wary look, I said, "I have two names, and Amariel is one of them. But I prefer Eda."

A moment passed, then he demanded, "Why do you have an Elvish name?"

His tone was less than gentle, and tears poked at my eyes. "Please," I murmured. "I have my reasons for hiding things. Just..." A tear slipped out, and I whispered, "Don't hate me."

Bilbo let out a long sigh and seated himself beside me. He hesitantly placed a hand on my shoulder, then put his arm around me. "Oh, lass. I could never hate you. You're far too brave for that." His embrace tightened for a moment.

"Brave?" I gave a tearful snort and wiped away the moisture spilling over my cheeks.

"I mean it," Bilbo said, pulling his arm back and patting my knee. "You sacrificed yourself for me. You saved my life."

I shrugged. " _You_ saved _mine._ If you hadn't sent those Elves back, I would've been killed."

"Consider us even, then," Bilbo replied. Turning to face me, he said, "Will you tell me the truth? The _entire_ truth?"

"I can't do that," I answered, my eyes filling with tears again. "But, I _can_ promise not to lie anymore." _To you,_ I added mentally.

I swear, Bilbo heard my inner voice. The creases between his silver eyebrows deepened, and he looked away.

"Please," I said, laying my hand on top of his. "I never met my father...and I've never really had a friend. I—" my voice cracked, and fresh tears spilled over. "I didn't realize that's what you were, until..." I had to stop, struggling to keep from breaking down. Tears streamed down my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Gentle fingertips wiped away the moisture as it fell. I swallowed back the massive lump in my throat and opened my eyes once more. "Diheno nin, mellon nin," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if the Hobbit would understand.

Bilbo's face softened, and all doubt that he understood was erased. "I forgive you, lass." More tears fell, embarrassingly, but this time from gratefulness and joy. Bilbo sighed, opening his arms to me. "Come here."

So I hugged the Hobbit, resting my head on his shoulder and wondering if this was what it was like to have a father.


	8. Playing With Fire

The next morning, I trotted into the training arena shortly after sunrise. I was wearing my trousers, my sweater, and my boots, and I'd braided back my wild hair. My swords were strapped to each hip, and my knife stowed in my sleeve. I felt invincible.

Elladan was already practicing with his longbow, but otherwise, the arena was empty. As I entered, he lowered the bow and turned to face me. His dark eyebrows rose as he openly examined my choice of wardrobe.

I placed a hand on my hip. "Do you approve, Elrondion?" I motioned to what I wore.

He scowled and turned back toward the target. "It is highly inappropriate."

"I fought you once in clothes that restrained my movement, and it nearly cost me the battle," I retorted. "That is one mistake I'll not make twice."

"You hardly need trousers to learn archery," he answered, firing off an arrow as he spoke. It landed dead-center of the target.

"I had rather hoped to spar with you first," I replied.

Elladan glanced at me, then slowly lowered his bow. "As you wish." He strode to the side of the arena, where he hung his bow up on a stand, and removed one broadsword from another stand, then another. "We will fight with equal weapons, however," he said.

I frowned, but nodded and removed my swords. Then I accepted the sword Elladan offered. It was far heavier than mine, and longer, and I struggled to hold it in just one hand. Placing both hands on the hilt, I spaced my feet apart and readied myself. "On guard."

Elladan swung at my neck, and I blocked just in time.

"So we aren't playing by the rules?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

He twirled and swung at my opposite side. "Orcs don't play by the rules."

I blocked. "Oh! Silly me. For some reason, I thought you were an Elf." I laboriously made a swing of my own, which he easily blocked. "But that explains a lot."

"Your tongue is sharp," he replied, "but thus far, you have done nothing to incite my fear." He made a shallow thrust, which I easily blocked, but lost ground in doing so.

It was time for Elladan to meet the Shadow Walker.

"Your form is good," I said, blocking his teasing swings, "and your movement is crisp. But, you've forgotten one crucial thing, Elladan."

"And what would that be?"

He gave a deep thrust, which I blocked, twisting toward him and blocking the following swing, bringing me well into his personal space. I smirked up at him. " _Never_ underestimate your opponent."

I jumped away and swung with all my might. He blocked and attacked. I parried and thrust. He sidestepped, blocked, and swung. And so, our match went from teasing to dangerous.

Excitement coursed through my veins with every accelerated pound of my heart. We moved like dancers through a choreographed sequence. But nothing about this feral dance was rehearsed or monotonous. I lost myself in the complete focus, in the split-second reflexes and the gut instincts.

But Elladan's swings were powerful, and all too soon, my arms began to tire. My reactions grew sluggish, and the ellon did not hesitate to take advantage. Within moments, he cut a shallow slice in my arm, then stepped away and lowered his sword. Technically, having drawn first blood, Elladan had won the match.

But who plays by the rules anymore?

I leapt back in with a volley of swings and thrusts. His eyes wide with surprise, Elladan blocked each approach. "The match is over," he said between swings. "I won."

I countered with a vicious swing at his knees. "The match won't be over until I have no more strength to fight with."

So we fought.

Now, our dance was chaotic and lethal. There was nothing graceful about the sweat streaming down our faces, or the blood trickling from my arm. And there was nothing musical about the brutal clashing of our blades. Now, training meant little. Form was disregarded. It was just us, our swords, and our animal instincts.

My arms burned with the exertion of wielding the broadsword, but I battled on. The good news was, the broadsword blade was longer than that my little sparring swords. I was able to swing at his neck, though it expended more energy. But I was steadily losing ground, and before long, I backed into the wall.

Elladan locked his blade with mine and wrenched the sword from my hand. Then he tossed his own sword aside. Grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the wall over my head. Our sudden proximity was startling, and trying hard not to blush, I glanced up and met Elladan's smirk.

But he hadn't won yet. I still had my dagger.

"You fight with no reservations," he murmured down at me. "And though you are not strong, you are quick, and fearless." Elladan moved my arms together so that he could hold both wrists in one hand. "But, you have forgotten one crucial thing, Eda."

I looked up at him through my eyelashes. He was leaning down to even our height out, and we were so close that if I stood on my tiptoes, I could easily steal a kiss. I trained back a grin. "Oh? And what would that be?"

With his extra hand, he reached into my sleeve and pulled out my knife. "Never repeat strategies on the same person."

My grin dropped like a rock, but his grew as he backed away and released my hands. He examined the tool between his fingers, his smile fading to a confused frown. "Interesting," he murmured, glanced up at me, then back at the knife. "Is this—?"

"Give it to me," I snapped, cutting him off.

Elladan's dark eyes lifted to me once more, searching. Then, slowly, he handed the knife back, hilt-first. "My apologies. I meant no harm."

"Apology accepted," I muttered, taking the knife and pushing it back up my sleeve. An awkward silence settled over us, so I cleared my throat. "I am ready to practice archery, if you would still teach me."

"Of course." Elladan's tone was confused, but instead of pursuing the issue, he bent down and picked up our swords. While he put away the swords and grabbed his longbow, I went to the archery range, where he joined me a moment later.

As he handed me the bow, I said, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked quietly, in his deep, gentle voice.

"For not asking questions." I tugged on the string, sighed, and said, "Would you help me pull this blasted thing back?"

He chuckled and leaned down to assist me. "Of course."

I trained with Elladan every morning for almost a week. Slowly, and painfully, my muscles grew until I could begin to pull the bowstring back on my own. I found myself happy to wait for Gandalf this way, but perhaps not content. For Elladan had kept our relationship strictly teacher-student and showed no interest in progressing.

But what I lacked in romance, I gained in the companionship I found with Bilbo. The Hobbit would spend long hours in Rivendell's gardens, seated on a bench with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his book resting in his lap. Sometimes he would write, and sometimes he would illustrate, but other times he would merely read back over what he'd already written.

I often joined him, quietly lying on another bench, basking in the sunlight and enjoying the comfortable silence. It was on one such afternoon that Bilbo handed me his book and said, "Read this, if you like. I skipped a lot of details when I told you the story—and you fell asleep before the end." He smiled, the wrinkled lining his face deepening.

"Thank you," I whispered, my fingers skimming over the cover. _There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale, by Bilbo Baggins_.

"Make sure you return it," he said with a fatherly chuckle. "I wrote it for Frodo. I never told him the whole truth about my adventure."

"Of course," I replied, reaching down to hug the old Hobbit. He patted my back affectionately, then we pulled apart.

"Well," he said, tugging the corners of his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, "I think I'll return to my room and go to sleep early tonight."

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked, helping him rearrange the blanket.

"Yes, yes," he said in a dismissive tone. "Just feeling a bit tired. You enjoy the book, now," he said, and slowly waddled away.

I frowned after him, concern poking at my mind. But, some extra sleep was probably the best thing for him, whether he was sick or not. So, tucking the thick book under my arm, I turned and headed for my own room.

When I got there, I immediately deposited the book on my bedside table and drew myself a bath. As I washed myself, I sent frequent dreading glances at Bilbo's written account. Doubtless, he would ask my opinion of the story, and want to know my favorite part. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the gesture, him letting me read the book before he gave it to his nephew. I simply was not much of a reader.

I took my time in the bath, and when I got out, I dressed in a baggy shirt and loose trousers—just in case someone burst into my room and tried to kill me again. Then, reluctantly, I picked up Bilbo's book and opened it.

The first pages were illustrated with intricate and detailed maps of the Shire, Rivendell, and the northwest territories surrounding Erebor—Dale, Lake-Town, Mirkwood, and the Lonely Mountain itself. I turned the page again, bringing me to the first chapter, and on the opposite page was a beautiful sketch of Bag End. Smiling a little, I delved into the story.

I smiled at Gandalf's role, and laughed aloud at the Dwarves' antics in a young Bilbo's life. I read on in awe as Bilbo chased after the Dwarves with a signed contract, and frowned sympathetically at his discomfort away from home.

And before I knew it, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, afraid for Thorin's company as it was captured by trolls. Smiling as Gandalf gave Bilbo the little sword—Sting. Worried sick as orcs chased the company into Rivendell. I smiled broadly at the way Bilbo recorded Lord Elrond's attitude and disgust toward Dwarves.

I couldn't tell when it happened, or how—but suddenly the words on pages were no longer words on pages, but vivid pictures that played out in my mind.

At some point, darkness fell, and I absentmindedly lit a candle to keep reading. Time was no longer any concern of mine, nor was anything aside from the book in my hands.

It only seemed like minutes later, that my candle flickered out. In sudden darkness, I scowled at it, and my eyebrows shot up to see it had already burned all the way down and guttered out in its own wax. I had no other candles, but going to sleep was not an option. Perhaps at the end of the chapter. So with that thought in my mind, I left my room and sat down on a bench out in the open, where moonlight would reach the pages.

I had reached the part where Bilbo was trying to find a way to help the Dwarves escape Thranduil's dungeon, when I turned the page. A small gasp escaped my lips. A breathtaking sketch depicted a dark-haired Dwarf reaching between the bars of prison cell, toward an elleth twice his height. Her long fingers were inclined toward his, but didn't quite touch. My eyes skimmed the drawing for a long moment, then returned to reading, eager to find out what happened next.

When at last I turned the final page, tears and snot were streaming down my face in equal amounts, and I had to wipe my chin on my shirt to keep the fluids from marring the hand-written page. I reluctantly closed the book and stared at the plain back cover. I suppose I would have to change my opinion of reading.

When I looked up, I gasped. Sunlight was already filling the sky, and I hadn't even noticed. Elladan would be waiting for me soon. I got up and ran to my room to get changed.

When I was finally on my way to the training arena several minutes later, I was intercepted by none other than Lord Elrond. He was standing on the walkway, glaring out at the waterfall as though it had wronged him horribly. His hands were buried in his wrinkled robes, his hair was a flyaway mess, and his face held a stormy expression. Without even looking at me, he said, "I have told you to stay away from my son. Repeatedly." He turned and looked me square in the eye. "What must I do to earn your obedience?"

I meant to say, 'Obedience? What's that?', but all that came out was, "Uhh..."

Elrond spun on his heel and strode down the walkway. "Follow me."

Following the grouchy Lord Elrond was the second to last thing I wanted to do. The _absolute_ last thing I wanted to do was disobey and make him even grouchier. So I scrambled to follow his quick pace.

We walked for several minutes until we came to an elegant, open house. Elrond's house. It was situated at the very edge of the cliff, so that it had the best view of the waterfall as the water plummeted into the river below. Elrond strode inside without a second glance over the sheer cliff. I, on the other hand, paused to admire the awe-inspiring and fear-inducing view.

"Amariel!"

I flinched and hurried after Lord Elrond. Inside, I followed him up two flights of stairs and into a medium-sized room. The east and west walls were completely open to the outdoors, letting in sunlight at any time of the day. Some furniture was scattered here and there around the room, a comfortable setup centered around a simple armchair and desk. But at the center of the room stood the central decoration—a throne. On the throne sat a discarded silver circlet.

With a disgusted expression, Elrond strode to the throne, mounted the dais it sat on, and picked up his jewelry. "As you know, I am _not_ king of Rivendell, but when the people made this throne and this crown as a symbol of their gratitude, I could not refuse.

"I put it here, in my house, where all are invited to see it. But I only sit upon it in times of need. I dislike resorting to power displays—" he set the circlet on his head, "but it seems you are in dire need of understanding who I truly am." And he seated himself on the throne.

It wasn't like thunder and lightning. The sun didn't suddenly flare up and reveal Elrond even more glorious than I'd previously noticed. But, as I gazed at the Ages-old ellon seated on a throne of love and respect, my perspective changed. Rather than the almost-father-in-law I tended to see him as, he was a powerful leader appointed by the people. Elrond's power lay not in his throne, not in his crown, and not in his foresight. It lay in his influence.

A long moment passed in silence as I contemplated the elements of leadership, Lord Elrond gazing at me, and I at him. Then he said, "Hide behind the bookshelf; do not reveal yourself until I call you."

I frowned. "What?"

He pointed a long finger at a free-standing bookshelf. "Go. Do not question me."

I strode across the room to the bookshelf and knelt behind it, quickly finding a couple of gaps between the books and shelves that I could peek through. Lord Elrond steepled his fingers and closed his eyes patiently.

Light footsteps padded up the stairs, and in the doorway appeared an all-too-familiar raven-haired elleth, her brow furrowed. At the sight of her father, her eyebrows raised. "Why do you sit on your—"

"You seek permission to leave Rivendell," he interrupted. "You wish to meet your lover in the forest."

Arwen quieted, eying Lord Elrond. After a moment, she said, "Yes."

As much as I personally disliked her, I had to admit, she had a directness that she could only have gotten from her mother.

"My spirit is troubled," she continued. "I feel that he is in danger."

Elrond turned and gazed out at the morning sun. "And yet, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is drawn to danger, just as danger is drawn to him." His dark eyes returned to rest on Arwen once more, a warning in his expression.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Darkness falls over the land, but I am not afraid."

Ugh. I rolled my eyes. Elves and their ever-ideal self-images.

"May your journey be successful," Lord Elrond said in his lofty tone. "Ride my horse."

Arwen's eyes rounded. "Tàlagor?"

"Have I any other horse?" Elrond asked peevishly.

Arwen hesitated, then dipped into a shallow curtsy. "Thank you, Father." And she turned and strode from the room.

There was a long silence in the room as her footsteps echoed down the stairway, then faded from hearing. Lord Elrond murmured, "May he carry you home safely." Then he called, "You may come out, Amariel."

I flinched and stood, then moved into the open area of the room before the throne. "You're letting her go? I thought you didn't like Aragorn," I demanded, a slightly betrayed tone rising in my voice.

"We balance on the edge of a knife," he murmured. "Stray but a little..." His brow furrowed, and he bowed his head, rubbing his eyelids.

"My lord?" I asked, growing concerned. "Is something wrong?"

He gave a humorless exhale through the nose. "A multitude of things are wrong. Where should you like me to begin?"

"The reason you are acting unwell," I answered, moving closer to the throne. "Have I done something that displeases you?"

Elrond smirked. "Nothing new. I merely slept poorly last night. I had odd dreams—yet vivid. I know not what to make of it."

I sidled closer, moving up the steps to his throne. "Would you tell me of it?" I asked.

He sighed. "I dreamed of a day when Men rule the earth. They rode in strange, horseless carriages, and created pictures that moved. Our history—" Elrond's eyes suddenly flicked up to meet mine. "Our history was somehow preserved, and captured in these moving pictures."

My eyes widened. "That's amazi—"

"Yes, yes, but the point is, the mortal they hired in my place was...was..." Elrond squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wrinkled."

I bit back a snort just in time. It would seem, even the oldest and wisest of Elves were a bit on the vain side. Using my rational voice, I said, "Are your dreams always prophetic?"

"Not always," Elrond admitted with a sigh. "But, it was so vivid. ..."

"My lord," I chided, seating myself on the arm of his throne. "You are being entirely illogical. Men care for nothing but their own power and strength. The day Men rule the earth, they will be too busy killing each other to worry about our history."

Elrond's expression lightened to mild amusement. "You speak with the voice of reason, Amariel."

"Thank you, m'lord," I replied with a grin.

He snorted. "You may go and train with my son. But please, change into appropriate apparel. Elladan's mind is still pure."

 _Was._ I clucked my tongue disapprovingly. "You shelter him too much." Lord Elrond shot me a withering glare, and I shrank away, hopping off the throne's arm. "But," I added quickly, avoiding his eyes, "I will do as you ask." At his curt nod, I briskly left the throne room and trotted down the stairs.

That was...interesting.


	9. Runaway Romance

As Elrond so graciously requested, I changed into a dress and regretfully left my swords behind. Longbows it would be, today at least. When I finally reached the training arena, Elladan was already practicing. He turned to acknowledge me as I walked in.

"Sorry for being late," I said. "Your daddy wanted to talk to me."

Elladan frowned and lowered his bow. "About what, pray tell?"

I bent my fingers into quotations. "'Propriety'."

"Oh." He winced. "I've gotten that one a couple of times."

"He showed me the chair."

Elladan's eyes widened. "And you're still here?"

I lowered my eyelashes a millimeter. "What makes you think _you're_ the one he was lecturing me about?"

Elladan smirked. "You _are_ brave, I'll grant you that."

I glowered at the ellon. "He said I could come, as long as I wore a dress."

He barked a laugh. "I told you trousers are inappropriate."

"You've told me a number of things," I replied, moving closer, "but only a few of them were verbal." I laid my hand over his, holding the bow. "Believe me, Elrondion, I can be far more than inappropriate."

His dark eyes seemed to darken even more at our sudden proximity, and he released the bow into my grip. Reaching behind him, he took an arrow from his quiver and handed it to me. "See if you cannot hit the target."

I set the arrow to the string, as he'd shown me in the past. Then, flexing my muscles, I labored to pull it back. Miraculously, I was able to. I pointed the arrow at the target, but my arms were shaking too much to really take aim. So I simply released the string.

The arrow missed the target by yards, then smashed into the wall behind and shattered.

Elladan chuckled. "At least it went the right way this time." His expression was pleased, though.

I stuck my tongue out at him, and we both laughed.

He took his bow back and hung it over his shoulder, then he moved in front of me and knelt down, bringing him to my height. He placed his hands on either side of my face, and looked into my eyes. My heartbeat stuttered. What was he doing?

"Your eyes are bloodshot," he murmured, standing once more. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Umm." I blushed furiously, trying to get my heart started again. Blushing is easy to do, but extremely difficult to prevent. _Why?!_ "I, uh, no. I was reading."

Elladan's eyes lit up. "That's happened to me many times. I'll give you some advice. Never start a good book late in the day."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "How do you know it's good without starting it?"

Elladan scowled. "You know what I mean." A pause, then, "What book was it?"

"I think the title was _There and Back Again._ It's Bilbo's record of going with the Dwarves to reclaim Erebor."

Elladan scowled. "That hardly sounds interesting."

I shrugged.

"Well." Elladan met my gaze and smirked. "I think you should take the rest of today off. Get some sleep."

I looked up at him through my eyelashes. "And why does my sleeping schedule concern you, Elladan?"

His grin deepened. "My brother's fiancée is having a birthday party tomorrow evening. And our parties tend to run rather late."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't go to parties."

Elladan casually brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face, his touch sending chills down my spine. "And what if I asked you to go with me?"

Looking away to hide that I was fighting a blush, I countered, "What if I said no?"

Elladan placed a long finger under my chin and tiled my head back so that I would look at him. "The seamstress would be very upset," he murmured. "She would say, 'Elladan, why would you have me make the most beautiful dress in Rivendell, if nobody was even going to wear it?'" His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I would have to take her as atonement."

My heart was thundering so loudly, I thought he would hear it. "That would be awful," I replied absentmindedly, staring up into his rich, deep brown eyes.

"It would indeed. So. Will you go with me?" he prodded, a slight grin lifting his lips.

The word 'yes' almost slipped out, but I managed to stop it. Instead, I said, "You'd owe me. Big time."

"Would I?" Elladan leaned down and skimmed his nose over my forehead, inhaling. Then he moved to sniff at my hair. " _What_ would I owe you?"

"I dunno," I said breathlessly.

"Hmm." Elladan took a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled. His warm breath traveled over my head, and I shivered. "Go get some sleep, princess. I told the seamstress to deliver your dress to you as soon as it's finished."

"O-ok-kay," I stuttered.

Elladan withdrew, smirking, and strode out of the training arena, leaving me speechless.

Here we go.

It wasn't often that I felt beautiful, but if looks could kill, I wouldn't need my swords at all tonight.

The dress was blood-red, with a high collar that made me look taller than I actually was. Delicate black buttons ran from my waist up to just beneath my chin, and a dark gold lace trimmed the edges. I'd ignored the little red shoes that had come with the dress and opted for my black boots, where I stowed my knife, since the sleeves were too tight. My hair, I took out of its usual braid and let it flow down around my shoulders.

I looked amazing.

I still felt a little nervous as I headed for the large gathering hall, where the party was to be held. I couldn't wish away the pit forming in my stomach as I heard music drifting out into the evening air. But my doubts flew away when a tall, dark-haired ellon came outside. His deep eyes found me, and he stopped in his tracks.

I ran to meet him, and Elladan knelt to receive me into a hug. I threw my arms around his shoulders, and he returned my embrace. "Eda, you look lovely tonight," he whispered into my ear.

"Thank you, Elladan," I replied, nuzzling his jaw.

He straightened and extended his arm for me to hold. Smiling, I accepted his offer, and together, we entered the hall.

To one side, Elrohir and Rusceth were chatting with guests, while across the room, musicians were playing a complex melody with multiple harmonies intertwined, occasionally ringing out with chilling dissonance.

"Dance with me?" Elladan murmured.

In response, I put my hand in his, and he placed a hand at my waist. And we stepped off in sync with the music.

Hours passed in a blur of dancing and drinking. Well, Elladan drank. I knew better than to consume Elven wine without a very good reason, and a private room far away to sleep off my crazy.

As the time flew by, Elladan began to lose his cool self-containment, and while we danced, his hand crept farther and farther down my waist. A naughty thought popped into my head, and I tried to push it out, but the harder I tried, the stronger it took hold in my mind. I glanced over my shoulder at the crowd. Elrond was nowhere to be seen—I hadn't seen him once all night.

 _You shouldn't,_ my conscience whispered.

 _But if I do..._ I swallowed. The implications would be major, possibly far-reaching. But, if I succeeded, I would safely remove myself from the danger of receiving my wretched inheritance.

My gaze traveled over to Elrohir. I'd had the same opportunity with him. A very similar situation. But I'd cowed at the last minute, and fled. But that was a long time ago.

It was time to lose my virginity.

I urged Elladan to follow my lead in our waltz, out the doors and into the shadow the massive building cast.

"Why have you brought us here, beautiful?" Elladan asked, his dark eyes sparkling.

I blushed, on purpose for once. Elladan's sharp Elven eyes would not miss that, even if he _was_ a little drunk. "I have a secret to tell you," I murmured, looking up at him shyly. "Can I trust you?"

"Of course, my love," he replied gently.

"Let me whisper it into your ear?" I asked.

He leaned down. But instead of placing my mouth beside his ear, I placed it on his lips. Softly kissed him.

Elladan froze beneath my touch, but didn't pull away. After a long moment, I pulled back so that we were face to face. His eyes were wide with shock. But it didn't last long. His mouth crashed back into mine, his arms wrapping tightly around my shoulders. His hard lips peppered mine with hot kisses, and his fingers wound into my hair.

"Eda," he gasped between kisses.

My stomach tightened nervously, but I wouldn't stop now. I _couldn't_ stop now. I'd been taken captive by this rogue love, this runaway romance.

Elladan's fingers clutched at the bodice of my dress, and I felt the fabric straining. "Elladan," I warned, pulling back and taking his hands in mine. "Come with me."

I led him away from the gathering hall, and to my room. My stomach was writhing, and my heart pounding. Eru, maybe I should've had some wine after all. Of course, in the state I was in, I'd probably end up barfing it all up anyway. And I had a feeling Elladan would find that less than attractive. So I led him to my room, hoping I wasn't making a huge mistake.

With shaking hands, I fumbled with the doorknob until the door opened. Then I went in. Elladan stood in the doorway, as though unsure if he should enter or not. Taking a deep, calming breath, I walked over to the bed and sat down, shyly meeting Elladan's piercing gaze.

"Aren't you going to join me?" I squeaked.

He strode into the room, shutting the door behind him. His eyes reflected the low light like a predator's, glinting hungrily.

Eru. What had I done?

My mind flitted through the dozens of useless metaphors people used to try and explain what ensued behind closed doors. As seasoned as I considered myself in flirting, my experience here was sorely lacking. Nonexistent, in fact.

Elladan crossed the space between us in two long steps, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders and his chest pushing me down to the bed. His lips brushed my jaw, then collided with mine once more. His hands roamed over my ribcage, then came up to the row of buttons, starting at my throat. I shivered as he slipped the first button from its loop.

"Cold?" he asked, his eyes glinting. His body rested atop mine, his heat suffocating me. Still, I couldn't stop trembling.

He released another button, and kissed my chin as he continued. His lips traveled down my throat...farther...and farther...

Pain flared over my shoulder and chest, and I flinched. Elladan tensed, and pushed himself off me. "What?" he demanded. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, rubbing the throbbing area connecting my neck to my shoulder. "I'm fine."

Elladan snatched my hand away from the sore area and pulled the loosened collar away from my throat. A growl rose in his throat. "Is that a _love bite_?"

"What?" I squeaked. "No!" I looked down at the purple bruise on my neck. That was where the ugly naked thing had bitten me. Truth be told, I'd forgotten all about that little incident.

An open-handed slap knocked my head to the side. My cheek stung immediately, and tears sprung to my eyes. "What was that for?" I cried.

"For lying." Elladan's tone was dark, cruel. "I know what happened between you and Elrohir. But I never thought you a whore."

I flinched. "Elladan—"

He thrust himself away from me and strode out of my room, leaving the door open.

"Elladan," I called, sitting up and floundering off the bed. I ran out the door, toward his quickly-retreating form. "Elladan!" I cried. As I moved to run after him, a hand reached from the shadows and snagged my arm. I stumbled to a halt, coming around to face Lord Elrond. Then I flinched, expecting him to hit me, too.

The strike never came. I looked up at Lord Elrond, and his expression held pity, and disappointment, but no anger.

He had _expected_ this.

I collapsed at Elrond's feet and wept. Self-disgust and Elladan's words echoing in my head mingled, coming out in great heart-wrenching sobs that echoed down the corridors. Elrond said nothing to soothe my wounded pride, but knelt down beside me and stroked my hair.

It may've been minutes, hours, days, or years. I couldn't tell. But when my tears finally subsided and I sat up on the hard ground, I felt a hundred years older. Elrond still remained silent, gently brushing my tears away. Then he grasped my arms and pulled me to my feet. He stood as well, then he turned me back toward my room. As I retreated to the four walls I was cursed to inhabit, Lord Elrond's footsteps echoed down the corridor.

I allowed myself the childish satisfaction of slamming my door as hard as I could. Then I threw myself onto the bed, buried my face into a pillow, and screamed.

It wasn't that he refused to be intimate with me. The logical side of my brain was relieved. Grateful, even.

It was his _words_. Haunting phrases that bounced around in my head, numbing me to all pain except what they inflicted. And inflict they did. Until I could barely breathe.

Time passed, and at some point, my cries faded. Soundless tears leaked from my eyes, soaking into the pillow. At least, with Elrohir, _I_ had been the one to run. _I_ had been the one sensible enough to leave. _I_ had controlled our relationship, our pace, our level of immaturity...

Numb with agony, I slipped off into the realm of chaos created by my own imagination.

When I awoke the next morning, I blinked against the gritty residue built up in my tear ducts. Rubbing my eyes, I pushed myself up. Why was I wearing a dress?

Oh. _Oh._

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. Then I removed myself from the horrid garment as quickly as I could. A button ripped off, and I smiled. A piece of me had broken last night—but another had fallen into place.

Shadow was the only companion I trusted now.

I dressed in my black garments, except for my mask, which went in my pocket. Then I armed myself. The feel of my razor-sharp blades at the ready comforted me, put a sort of desperate courage in my heart. And, ready to attack the day, I turned and faced the mirror.

The black-clad creature staring back at me was a monster. Her hair was a frazzled mess that refused to be confined by the hood, her lips were swollen and cracked, and a bruise extended across her left cheek.

I touched the mirror where her skin was discolored. "We make quite a pair, don't we?" I mumbled. Snagging my brush, I quickly worked through the worst of the knots in my hair, then braided it. I tied the braid off with a thin cord, then pulled my hood up. Much better.

I walked out the door, then startled. Standing outside my room, looking over Rivendell's waterfalls, was a Hobbit. And not Bilbo.

He glanced over his shoulder, and jumped backward. Luckily, the railings were tall enough—and Hobbits short enough—that there was no chance of him falling.

"Oh," he said, blushing a deep red, "I didn't see you there."

"It's okay," I replied, closing my door behind me. "I just came out."

I joined the Hobbit in gazing over Rivendell, resting my elbows on the guardrail beside him. "When did you get here?" I asked.

"'Bout an hour ago, I reckon," he said, not meeting my gaze.

His response left little invitation for me to press the subject. Frowning, I glanced over his state. His unruly blond hair was badly disheveled and tangled with twigs and leaves. As he stared out at the city, his thick fingers drummed the guardrail nervously.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Big blue Hobbit eyes turned to meet my gaze, swimming with a multitude of unshed emotions. He didn't answer immediately, but finally, he answered in a squeaky voice, "It's Mr. Frodo. He got 'urt real bad on the way 'ere. 'E might not make it." The Hobbit bit his lip and looked away, failing to hide the tears pooling in his eyes.

Frodo was here? Injured? _Dying?_

"Where is he now?" I demanded.

The Hobbit sniffed. "With Lord Elrond, I'd imagine."

Elrond's personal healing room. I nodded my thanks and trotted down the corridor.

"'E won't let you see 'im," the Hobbit shouted after me. "I've already tried."

"Thank you," I called over my shoulder. And I kept going.


	10. Guest List

I jogged all the way to Lord Elrond's house, pausing only to glance at a sundial. It was almost nine-thirty.

When I reached the House of Elrond, I went to a building situated just off the main building—his personal healing room. It was open and airy, much cheerier and better furnished than the healing room I'd gotten. And that was where I found Lord Elrond. He was seated in an armchair beside the bed, his face resting in his hands. In the bed was a small blanket-covered Hobbit, his chest rising and falling just visibly enough to ease my worries. I hesitated outside the doorway, afraid to interrupt Lord Elrond if he was still actively healing Frodo.

"You may enter, Amariel," he said wearily, not looking up. "I am resting."

I padded into the room and moved to stand beside Lord Elrond, gazing down at Frodo. His dark curls were clumpy with sweat, and his skin was pallid. Though he slept, his expression was contorted with pain.

"Will he be okay?" I whispered.

Elrond sighed and straightened in his seat. "His wound is not fatal."

"But will he be okay?" I pressed.

The ellon met my gaze with tired eyes. "How is the other Hobbit? Samwise?"

I scowled at Elrond's dodge, but, perhaps he did not know the answer. "I'm assuming you mean the one I found outside my room. He's worried sick."

Elrond gave a small smile. "Their friendship is strong," he mused. He glanced at me. "You would do well with such a friendship."

I snorted. "With who?" I seated myself on the bed beside Frodo, careful not to wake him. "It's not like I have any female friends. Or male friends, for that matter."

Lord Elrond gazed at me, _into_ me, for a long moment. His stoic expression sank, betraying sadness. "Go to the courtyard, Amariel. Gandalf will have arrived by then. I have a bit more to do with Frodo."

I bit my lip. I was missing his blunt answers with their direct meanings. Even if they were insulting, at least it was a frontal attack. This...I couldn't guard myself against this.

"Go," he urged.

I obeyed. Stood and left the healing room without another word. Wondering what in Mordor had just happened, I made my way down to the very bottom of Rivendell, where the front gate was. Just as I reached the bottom stairs, a very sweaty horse cantered through the gates, carrying a gray-clad wizard with a pointy hat.

I hung back until Gandalf had dismounted and the stable ellon had taken his horse. Then I strode forward and intercepted him. I was going to demand what took him so long, demand my payment, and flounce out of Rivendell with the airs of a queen, but all that came out was, "Took you long enough."

Gandalf gave a halfhearted chuckle. "My apologies, Amariel. I was det—"

I whirled and pointed a finger at his face. "My. Name. Is. _Eda_."

Gandalf remained silent and did nothing. Long seconds passed, and I awkwardly let my hand drop. His steely gray eyes drilled into me, and at length he said, "You have changed."

"For the better, I would hope," I replied, wishing my voice would sound confident. It didn't.

"Perhaps," Gandalf said quietly, his eyes filled with compassion. "Perhaps not."

I scowled. I didn't need his pity.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "I owe you some money, don't I?" He searched his robe for a long moment, frowned, and kept searching. He finally came up with three loose copper coins. "I...I believe I may've miscalculated the cost of my travels of late," he said, handing me the coins. "But, I assure you, I will pay you the rest of what I owe as soon as I am able."

"Gandalf," I sighed, pressing the coins back into his palm. "Keep this. You've been generous enough already." My eyes, for some reason, chose to water just then. I'd stayed in Rivendell for freaking two weeks, waiting for Gandalf. Now that he'd come, not only did he not bring what he'd promised, but I'd also let him off the hook. And look where I'd gotten myself in the meanwhile.

"Excuse me," I murmured, turning to go.

Gandalf caught my arm. "May I speak with you for a moment longer?"

I stopped walking and bit my lip. Did I have any choice? Probably not. So I swallowed back the tears and took a deep breath. "If you like."

He led me to a gazebo decorating the center of the courtyard, and we sat down on the bench inside. "Last time I visited, Lord Elrond spoke of you." Gandalf's eyes pierced mine. "He said he'd seen your future."

"Yeah, he told me," I said, looking away.

"Did he?" Gandalf's voice was disbelieving.

"Well, he told me he'd seen it. He didn't say what it was."

"He has seen many paths," Gandalf corrected. "And he is having trouble discerning which is the one you will take."

"Oh," I replied. I didn't have the will to say much else.

Gandalf was quiet for a long moment, then he said, "You are a wanted woman."

I snorted. "Yes, well..."

"Most of all by Saruman."

My head whipped around to face Gandalf. "How do you know this?"

Gandalf gave a sad chuckle, then sighed. "How else would he come by a Palantìr without dirtying his hands?"

The memory sent chills down my spine, covering my skin with goose bumps. I wrapped my arms around myself, closing my eyes.

"You knew he was evil," Gandalf said, his tone disapproving. "Why would you assist him?"

"I was _dying,_ Gandalf!" I cried. "I was _starving_ to death, and he offered me warm food and money for my travels, asking only one thing in return." I met the gray wizard's gaze. "He saved my life."

"He seeks to end it, now," Gandalf replied solemnly. "All across Middle Earth, he sends Crebain to search for you."

"And if they find me?"

"He will send his orcs. And they will kill you."

I frowned, worry gnawing at my mind. Suddenly, a bird squawked overhead. I spooked, but it was only a cardinal.

Gandalf chuckled. "You are safe _here_. Which is why you must stay here for the foreseeable future."

I scowled. How long is the foreseeable future?"

"That depends on who you ask," Gandalf replied, his eyes full of mirth.

I grimaced, scowling at the wizard. "Funny."

"Yes, I thought so." Gandalf patted my shoulder. "Well, I have a Hobbit waiting for me. Where is he?"

"Bilbo?" I asked. "If he's not in the gardens, try the upper level of rooms."

"No, no, no, I meant Frodo," Gandalf said, his eyes growing worried.

"Oh, Frodo." I bit my lip. "He's in the House of Elrond. He was...hurt. On the way here. Or that's what Samwise said."

Gandalf's eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, Amariel."

"So help me, Gandalf, if you call me that again...!" I hesitated, and he paused to listen. "I'll burn your stupid hat," I said finally.

He gave me a strained smile. "And rest assured, _Amariel_ , if you threaten me again, I will turn you into a toadstool." And with that, he strode away.

I moped all the way back to my room, still processing the news about Saruman. His was one job I considered a success, and had never regretted until now.

When I reached my room, the Hobbit—Samwise—was still standing where I'd left him. "Hey," I said, "Gandalf just arrived, and he went to see Frodo. I'll bet you could go visit him, too."

Samwise perked up. "Really?"

I smiled, thinking of what Elrond had said. "Yes, I think so."

He didn't respond a second time, just started running in the wrong direction.

"Wait," I called, trying not to laugh. "He's the other way. Come on, I'll take you there."

Samwise blushed. "Thank you, miss." He glanced up at me and added, "I'm Samwise Gamgee, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," I said, flashing him a smile. There was something about Hobbits that just...made the world brighter. Perhaps it was their naive innocence. But I caught myself feeling a little more content with them around.

"You're awful short to be an Elf," Samwise observed honestly. "No offense."

I smiled again. "None taken. I'm not an Elf."

"What are you, then?"

I sighed. "That's...complicated." I looked at him and added, "But my name is Eda."

We walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to Elrond's house, but the moment Gandalf's pointy hat came into view, Samwise broke into a run and burst into healing. "Frodo! Bless you, you're awake!" he cried.

The feeling that I was utterly alone struck me hard. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath. Voices faded into the background as I struggled with tears. Never before had I felt so helplessly alone. Never before had I lost this much hope for the future.

"Amariel?"

I opened my eyes. Lord Elrond stood before me, his dark eyes lined with exhaustion, but also sympathy. I sniffed, trying to hide my runny nose. "Yes?"

"May I speak with you?"

What was it with everyone suddenly _asking_ if they could talk to me? I shrugged and nodded. "Sure."

He motioned for me to follow him, and we walked into his house, going up a flight of stairs and down a corridor before entering his private study. "I have need to speak to Mithrandir, as well, so we do not have long," he said. "However, I have once again foreseen your future."

I sank into one of the chairs decorating the room. "And?"

"After the outcome of last night's events, a number of paths have become much clearer for you," he said, meeting my gaze. His eyes were filled with an apology. "You are in grave danger."

"I know," I replied wearily. "Saruman. Gandalf told me."

"It is far more than just Saruman," Elrond replied.

"Then what?"

Lord Elrond hesitated. "I cannot tell you. But, for your safety, you must remain in Rivendell."

I sighed. "Gandalf told me that, too. But for how long?"

"Two years," Elrond replied quietly. "Possibly longer."

"Two years!" I cried, my eyes filling with tears. "Lord Elrond...I can scarcely remain in one place for two _weeks_."

"Amariel," he sighed. "You view me as cold, heartless. But everything I do, I do for your benefit. Even when I revealed your falsehood to Bilbo, I did so knowing that you would create a deeper friendship with him as a result."

I looked away, swallowing.

"I ask that you would trust me," Elrond said, his voice gentle.

"You have given me no reason to," I replied sharply. "'I cannot tell you this, I cannot tell you that.' If you would only _explain_ yourself, your reasons...perhaps I would listen."

Pain entered Elrond's expression, as though a war were being waged within him. "I cannot," he whispered. He glanced at a parchment sitting on his desk, frowned, and crossed the room. As he lifted a book and opened it, I stood and pretended to gaze out the window. Instead, I glanced at the paper. A single word caught my attention.

 _Legolas_.

The crown prince of Mirkwood. Tauriel's admirer. What was his name doing on what appeared to be a...a guest list?

I glanced over my shoulder at Elrond. He was busily reading in his book. Keeping a wary eye on him, I snagged the paper and hid it under my shirt.

Augmenting the frustration in my voice and feigning some long-forgotten tears, I said, "Then please understand when I return to choosing my own future." And I strode out of the room as quickly as my short legs could carry me. I smirked. _Betcha didn't see_ that _one coming, did you Elrond?_

I ran to the nearest safe haven I could take cover in—Bilbo's room. Bilbo was sitting on a bench just outside, his feet dangling as he hunched over a small pocketbook.

"Bilbo," I gasped breathlessly, "look what I found!"

He looked up and smiled, patting the bench beside him. "What have you got?"

I plopped down where he'd indicated. "I'm not sure—but it looks like a guest list."

He gave a slight frown. "You pinched it, didn't you?"

I smirked. "Right off Elrond's desk. He didn't even notice."

Bilbo's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Well, out with it, then! Let me see!"

I pulled the paper out and handed it to Bilbo. His chubby, wrinkled forefinger trailed over the list of names. "I don't recognize...ahh, Gloin is coming! And he has a son!" Bilbo chuckled excitedly. "It'll be good to see that old rascal again."

I frowned. I hadn't noticed Gloin's name. "Keep going," I urged.

"All right, all right." Bilbo continued reading, and as predicted, he paused again. "Legolas is coming," he murmured. "I wonder how he's been. ..."

I gazed at the paper in Bilbo's hands. _Legolas Greenleaf, Thranduilion._

"I don't recognize any of the other names," Bilbo said, jolting me back to the present. "At any rate, you'd better slip that back onto Elrond's desk. Then we'll go down to the gate and wait for everyone to arrive."

I grinned and stood. "Okay!"

"Oh, and..." Bilbo winked. "Don't get caught."


	11. Touch and Go

I slipped into Elrond's house unnoticed, but nearby voices kept me on my guard. I carefully made my way into his study, catching a glimpse of Lord Elrond and Gandalf through the doorway.

As I took the paper out to leave it on the desk, Elrond's voice caught my attention.

"It should have ended that day," he said. "But evil was allowed to endure."

My interest piqued, I tucked myself by the doorway and continued to listen.

In a bitter tone, Elrond said, "Isildur kept the ring. The line of kings is broken. There's no strength _left_ in the world of men. They're scattered, divided. Leaderless."

"There is one who could unite them," Gandalf said stubbornly. "One who could reclaim the throne of Gondor."

I closed my eyes. Poor Aragorn. Why did they have to keep pestering him to take the throne? Eru knows that kind of inheritance is no gift.

"He turned from that path a long time ago," Elrond replied quietly. "He has chosen exile."

"Perhaps," Gandalf said quietly, "someday he'll choose fulfill his destiny."

"Perhaps," Elrond replied, his tone unconvinced.

"Well," Gandalf sighed, "I am going to speak with Bilbo." His footsteps echoed out of the building, and Elrond's came closer. Mordor! I was still holding his guest list!

I made a dash for the desk.

"I thank you for returning my invitation list," Elrond said behind me, his tone highly amused.

I cleared my throat, casually letting the paper drop where I'd found it. "No problem," I replied lightly, hoping he wouldn't say anything else.

Of course, I'm never that lucky.

"However, I am rather curious as to what your interest in it is."

"Hmm." Technically speaking, statements don't require an answer. I turned around, meeting Lord Elrond's bemused gaze. "I'll just..." I cleared my throat. "...go."

"You do that," he replied dryly. I hurriedly moved toward the door, and he added, "Oh, Amariel?"

Something about his tone piqued my curiosity, and I stopped. "Yes?"

His mouth twitched, hiding a smile. "The chances are almost nonexistent...but wear a dress."

My own lips twisted into a grin. Elrond wouldn't tell me anything more...but just this once, I might listen to him.

I left Elrond's house and went directly to my room. Then I began going through my wardrobe.

Lord Elrond had had four dresses made for me before my trousers and shirt. I finally settled on an emerald-green dress with three-quarter-length sleeves, trimmed in gold and white lace. Then I brushed out my wild mane and began laboriously braiding it up into a thick crown around my head. Upon finishing, I inspected my work in the mirror. It was actually pretty good.

Finally, I glanced between my two pairs of shoes. Flats, or boots? Not much of a choice, really. I snagged my boots and pulled them back on. They were much more comfortable than flats ever could be. That done, I regretfully left my weapons behind and exited the room.

I began descending the long series of stairs winding down the mountainside, holding my cumbersome skirt out of the way and letting my momentum build. Focusing on my feet so I wouldn't trip over myself, I flew around a corner. And slammed into oncoming traffic.

"Oomph!" he grunted.

I staggered back, about to fall, but his hands caught my shoulders.

"Eru dammit," I snapped, "watch where you're—!"

Oceanic blue eyes stared down at me, framed by long blond hair.

"...going..."

He released his hold on my shoulders and straightened, holding my gaze in his unforgiving one. "Sorry." His tone was curt. "I didn't see you down there." Twisting his lithe body, he moved around me, careful to avoid contact.

My eyes followed him as he ascended the stairs. He was dressed in a dark green tunic that clung to his muscular shoulders, and an ornate longbow and quiver were slung across his back. And his hair...I imagined how it would feel, running through my fingers...

He glanced at me over his shoulder. Caught, I blushed bright red. His cold eyes met mine, then he gave a humorless smirk and trotted away.

I bit my lip, fighting a smile that made absolutely no sense. I was sorely tempted to follow him...but something told me he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. Besides, I was wearing this blasted dress. Not exactly subtle.

So, I kept heading toward the gate, wondering who that cold ellon had been. He wore the apparel of a high-ranking Mirkwood guard, and carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned fighter. Perhaps one of the Elves on Elrond's guest list? If I weren't still reeling from the whole situation with Elladan, I would probably have a lot of fun with this one.

I didn't run into anyone else on my way down, but the moment I reached the bottom, I spotted Bilbo. He was embracing Sir Glòin, and chuckling, he said, "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider," the old white-haired Dwarf said, chuckling sadly. "Not shorter." Off to the side stood another Dwarf with red hair and a bushy beard, looking around warily and holding his axe at the ready.

"You are in no danger here, master Dwarf," I said, approaching.

His eyes shifted to me, and widened in surprise. "By my beard," he exclaimed in a gruff, deep voice, "this is hardly a place one would expect to meet such a lovely Dwarven lady!"

I trained back a snicker.

"Unless..." He scowled. "Ye aren't an extra-short version of these pointy-ears, are ye?"

"No," I replied, frowning and smoothing my hair behind one of my ears.

"Good," he replied. "Because it would be a grand disappointment to my father if I found a pointy-eared Elf wench attractive." He shuddered visibly.

I laughed nervously, unsure what else to do.

"Are ye here for the council, lass?" he asked.

"Uhh...no," I answered. "Just visiting for awhile."

The clatter of many horses running drew my attention to the gate, as a small company of Elves rode into Rivendell. They were dressed similarly to the ellon I'd... _bumped into_. Though perhaps not as nicely. And not as good-looking. They dismounted and tied their horses beside a single white mare. Then, shooting the four of us disdainful glances, they left the courtyard.

"Disrespectful, dishonest, disgusting, despicable pointy-ears!" the Dwarf muttered, scowling. He turned back to me, and his barely-visible expression softened. "So, lass, can ye grow a beard?"

The question caught me off guard, and I laughed. "I...no, I can't."

"Ahh. A pity. Most Dwarven women can. But, let it never be said that Gimli, son of Glòin, couldn't overlook a flaw or two." He winked.

I had to choke back more laughter. I didn't find him attractive in that way at _all_ , but I found his attempts amusing.

"So, lass, what's yer name, and where are ye from?"

I glance at Glòin, who was still talking with Bilbo. Gimli thought I was a Dwarf...and if he found out I wasn't, he'd demand the details—Dwarves are all the same—so a truthful answer was altogether out of the question. Mordor, he'd probably heard of me.

"My name is Eda," I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back and hoping he didn't recognize that much. "And I'm from...Moria." I bit my lip. I knew nothing of Moria or its history—just that it was a Dwarvish kingdom. But I sighed in relief when Gimli's eyes lit up.

"Moria! My father tells me that my cousin, Balin, is a fine ruler. I've yet to meet him, or visit Moria, but I am very eager to. Tell me, young Eda, what is Moria like?"

"Uhh...busy," I said. Moria was one of few places I _hadn't_ been. "The mines have been running a little dry, so Balin opened some new ones a few years back." It was quite possible I found lying a little _too_ easy.

"Ahh," Gimli said, nodding. "That is good to hear. I particularly have a passion for sweet-talking dry mines into a little more metal."

I frowned. The way I figured it, once a mine ran dry, it was dry. And not particularly inclined to change its mind. But maybe that's just a girl thing.

"Do you have any passions?" Gimli urged, smiling. At least, I _think_ he was smiling. Hard to tell under the facial hair.

I shrugged and gave him a grin. "Nothing much. Just spelunking."

Gimli's abundant eyebrows shot up. "Really!? I'll admit, lass—you struck me as more an above-ground type of girl."

I frowned. "Wait..." I definitely _was_ the above-ground type.

Gimli sighed. "A spelunker is someone who explores caves for fun," he said gently.

"Oh." I frowned, a flush crawling up my neck. "That's...embarrassing."

Chuckling, Gimli said, "It's quite all right, lass. Here—let me introduce ye to my father."

I froze. "I, uhh..." What if Glòin recognized me? Oh Illùvatar, that would be bad. "I actually have to go," I said.

"Ye only just arrived," Gimli protested.

"Yes," I said, smiling apologetically. "I came to get Bilbo."

"Oh," he said, his countenance falling.

"Bilbo," I called, wincing as I caught Glòin's attention as well.

"Yes?" he replied.

"We should be getting back," I said, hoping he'd just agree and go with it.

He frowned a little, searching my expression, then he nodded. "Aye, I suppose we should," he said finally. Turning back to Glòin, he said, "A pleasure to see you again, my friend."

"Aye, aye," shouted Glòin, nodding. "A real pleasure."

Nearly-deaf, then. With any luck, he'd be blind, too. Eru knew he'd had a prime front seat for my humiliating debut in the Court of Erebor.

Bilbo patted the Dwarf's shoulder, then waddled over to me, his steps a bit unsure. I took his elbow, supporting him, and with a farewell nod Gimli, I walked Bilbo to the stairs. Slowly, we began making our way up. Truly, it was a miracle Bilbo had made it down here on his own without falling. He was so shaky that I said, "Bilbo, see to it you don't have to come up or down any stairs without help, okay?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, puffing for breath. "I walked all the way from the Shire without any help—ran a good part of the way! Now all of a sudden I can scarcely walk across the courtyard."

I smiled at him sadly. Eru, I hated mortality. Forcing a happier expression and a light tone, I said, "You're on a holiday, remember? You're allowed to rest more often."

Bilbo chuckled somberly; he wasn't comforted in the slightest. But neither of us gave a second attempt at rationalizing his sudden show of age.

We continued up the winding staircase, Bilbo leaning on me more and more. We were rounding the last corner before reaching the straight walkway leading to Bilbo's room, when someone came of nowhere and ran into us.

I caught Bilbo before he could fall, then glared at—guess who. "You may want to get your nose out of the clouds," I quipped. "It would be a pity if you chipped your pedicure."

The blonde ellon glared back but said nothing. He moved to pass us, but Bilbo reached out and caught his arm. "Legolas?" he said, squinting up into the ellon's face.

Legolas.

Crown prince of Mirkwood.

Whom I had just insulted.

He didn't brush Bilbo's hand away, but the disgust on his face made it clear he wanted to. "What business have you with _me_ , halfling?"

Crown prince or no, I wanted to stuff his eyeballs down his trousers.

"I am Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

The ellon gazed down at Bilbo with utter disdain. Finally, he decided to grace us with his words. "Age has not treated you kindly."

Unfazed, Bilbo replied in his fatherly tone, "Nor has bitterness to you."

Legolas's upper lip curled back in a sneer. "You know nothing." With that, he brushed past us and began trotting down the stairs.

Oh, how I wished I had my swords with me.

Bilbo gazed after the ellon, not with anger or resentment—but with _pity_. "He is but a shadow of the Elf he used to be," he said quietly.

"Are you sure it's him?" I asked, tugging Bilbo toward his room once more.

"Oh yes," he said, his face still lined with sadness. "That was Legolas Greenleaf, of Mirkwood.


	12. Spar of Princes

It was a little while before sunset when I trotted down to the training arena, hoping and praying Elladan wouldn't be there. I sorely needed to practice, to work my muscles and begin processing the last twenty-four hours.

To my disgust, Elladan was here. Go figure.

But before I could leave, someone entered the opposite side of the arena. A blonde ellon with piercing blue eyes. Gone was his longbow, replaced with twin swords strapped to his back. Heads turned as he strode through the arena. Eru, he walked like he freaking _owned_ the place! He walked directly to Elladan and stopped.

Elladan lowered his longbow, and a smile spread across his face. "Legolas, my friend! It has been many years since last we met."

"It has," Legolas replied, reluctantly embracing Elladan.

I slipped into a discreet cranny, where I could see and not be seen.

"Would you like to spar?" Elladan asked, a smile twisting his mouth. "I have been practicing. I might even beat you this time."

Legolas chuckled, but it was a chilling laugh. "Unlikely. But, if you would like to try, I'll not deny you the loss."

Elladan nodded, and while he put away his longbow, Legolas reached over his shoulders and drew his swords. Though they were of Elvish make, they weren't unlike mine.

"Erm..." Elladan cleared his throat. "Equal weapons?"

"If you have anything to match mine," Legolas replied idly, lazily swinging his swords and warming up. "I care not what weapon you choose. If you have a trained Oliphant, use that."

Elladan scowled, but I had to stifle a laugh. Cocky son of an elleth.

Elladan took two broadswords from the weapon rack, brandishing one in each hand. He was an imposing sight; tall, broad, dark-haired, holding two swords and looking rather irritated.

Legolas, however...while the immediate appearance wasn't as imposing, he had an unconcerned air about him that spoke volumes. Twirling one sword casually, he said, "First blood drawn, or first ellon down?"

Elladan eyed his opponent warily, almost...fearfully. "You choose."

"First ellon down, then," Legolas replied, examining one of his blades. Then, without warning, he attacked.

Elladan blocked in the nick of time. With a mighty push, he shoved Legolas away. Legolas struck again. Their swords clashed, the violent sound echoing through the arena. Sparks flew each time their blades met, a testimony to the strength behind the blows.

Their blades blurred with each engagement, and they both lost and regained ground with each passing minute. And while they appeared evenly matched, their styles were as different as night and day. Elladan was fast, but Legolas was faster. Legolas was strong, but Elladan was stronger.

It was like pitting a lion against a cheetah.

The battle continued, gaining ferocity. Minutes passed. Neither of them showed any intention of yielding. But as time wore on, their styles became increasingly pronounced. Elladan became more deliberate, more cautious. But Legolas became more reckless and animalistic. They were like earth and water. And while Elladan calmly absorbed most of Legolas's raw energy, it became apparent who the victor would be.

Legolas jumped in with a volley of fearless thrusts and swings, opening himself up multiple times, but never backing down. He kicked Elladan's feet out from under him, and the dark-haired ellon fell. Hard.

Legolas pounced. His knee pinned Elladan's chest to the ground, while one foot held one hand down. Elladan's other sword came up, and Legolas blocked. But too late. The blade sliced shallowly into Legolas's side. Legolas tossed one sword aside and grabbed Elladan's. He furiously wrenched the blade away, then he grabbed a fistful of Elladan's hair. Forced the ellon's head back, drawing his throat taut. Placing his blade at Elladan's throat, he snarled, "Yield."

"I yield," gasped Elladan. Legolas didn't move. "Please, my friend, I yield," Elladan cried. "Have mercy!"

Legolas took a deep breath, then slowly stood and backed away. Blood stained his torn tunic, and the spot was growing. He snagged his second sword from the floor, then sheathed them both. "Well fought," he muttered, then strode out of the arena.

Elladan slowly peeled himself off the floor. Eru, he looked bad. Blood trickled from multiple shallow wounds, and he was visibly trembling as he stood and collected his weapons. Then he left the arena as well—through the door at the opposite end.

I slipped out of my hiding place and began making my way back to my room. In one of the gardens, I caught a glimpse of Elrohir and Rusceth sitting on a bench, making out. My heart sank a little, loneliness trying to crawl into my heart. I pushed it away and jogged the rest of the way to my room.

The sun was setting when I reached my safe haven, but once there, there was no keeping the loneliness at bay. Had it only been last night when Elladan spat those horrible words at me? I squeezed my eyes shut, but the tears escaped anyway. Illùvatar dammit, I was so _tired_ of hopping from one man to the next like stepping stones. But I was so miserable without a distraction.

But, who said the distraction had to be some _one_?

I brushed away my tears and pulled on my mask, then my hood. I unbuckled my sword belt and left it on my bed; this would strictly be a stealth mission. But my knife remained safely stowed in my sleeve. Just in case. That done, I left my room once more.

Let's see what chaos I can create tonight.

As I passed one of the mini-waterfalls, the sight of two people kissing made me stop. Aragorn and Arwen. I gritted my teeth. Did bloody _everyone_ have somebody to make out with except me? I glared at the couple, wishing I had a longbow and that I could actually shoot. I wouldn't _hurt_ either of them—just sabotage their little kissing session.

Arwen wrapped her arms around Aragorn's neck, pulling herself closer, and I turned away. Disgusting. If only an orc pack would come flooding through the gates. The alarm would sound, and every able-bodied man would come running to the rescue.

And _that_ gave me an idea. With a vicious smile on my face, I slunk off to the front gate, to wreck some havoc.

As my prey came into view, I slipped into hiding and watched him pace back and forth. I didn't need to hurt him—I just needed his horn. Which he would likely not surrender easily. The guard carried a longbow in his hands, and had a sword on his hip. If I could get close enough to put him at a disadvantage with his long-distance weapon, I would probably be okay. He wouldn't be as good as Elladan, in which case I could probably handle him. But Lord Elrond specifically asked me not to hurt anyone.

Besides. That was a _lot_ of ifs and probablies.

Stealth, and a quiet knockout would be my best option, for all parties involved. I waited until the guard's back was turned, then I trotted out, willing my feet to be silent. All was well, until I stepped on a dry leaf.

 _Crunnnnch!_

The ellon whirled, firing at me. I dropped into a roll, just in time. The guard leaped over me. I reached up, grabbed his ankle, and threw him to the ground. He reached for his horn, but I snatched it away. A quick punch to his nose provided a distraction. He sluggishly reached for his sword, but I slammed my forehead into his. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the stone.

Meh. He'd be good in a couple of hours.

I brought the horn to my lips and blew the distress signal with all my might.

Rivendell lit up like a winter solstice celebration tree. Lights appeared in the windows across the entire valley, and I could already hear the other guards running this way.

I booked it for the nearest shadowed wall I could climb, and climbed. At the top of the building, I glanced back. A few guards were gathered around the unconscious ellon, trying to wake him up. His eyes fluttered open, and he began mumbling something. Just then, Aragorn came running up, closely followed by Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Legolas. The latter was just finishing buttoning up his tunic, and judging by the state of his hair, he'd just rolled out of bed.

One of the guards said something to Aragorn, and he turned to the others. "Spread out. Find the orcs."

I snorted. That ellon must've been really delirious. I backed away from the edge, out of their sight, and kept climbing through Rivendell. Below, more ellyn continued to arrive and join in the search for the nonexistent orcs. I climbed until I reached Rivendell's pinnacle.

A lone figure, stood on the balcony, looking out over the city. I winced. I should've known Elrond wouldn't fall for a cheap parlor trick. That he would've—literally—seen it coming. That he would know where to find me, to catch me and punish me.

But I was tired of running.

Lord Elrond didn't bother looking at me as I climbed over the guardrail and moved to stand beside him. After pushing my hood down and taking off my mask, I matched his position, placing my elbows on the rail and leaning into them.

Neither of us spoke. We just watched the city below us come to life, watched the guards swarming through Rivendell, searching for the intruder. Searching for me.

Finally, Elrond sighed. "He was a good warrior. I wish you had not hurt him."

I frowned. "What are you talking about? It was just a conk on the head. He might have a concussion, but not even a bad one."

Elrond turned to look at me, his expression surprised. Then, slowly, he nodded and looked away. "I apologize. I...misunderstood what I saw."

I should've made a snarky comment, but my heart wasn't in it. The loneliness that I'd been struggling to keep at bay washed over me like a wave, and tears pooled in my eyes. I swallowed, determined to hold them back. This was hardly the time to have a breakdown.

"Your heart is troubled, Amariel." Lord Elrond turned to look at me, his intense gaze absorbing every detail. "Why?"

I closed my eyes, and several tears fell, embarrassingly. I quickly brushed them away and took a deep breath. "My lord..." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Will the Valar grant me a love of my own?" I could not stop more tears from streaming down my cheeks.

"Oh Eda," Elrond sighed, wrapping his arms around me. I squeaked in surprise, but he didn't let go, didn't push me away. "There's always a chance. But even I cannot tell. Your path is difficult for me to see, and even more difficult to understand."

"But there is a chance?" I pleaded, pulling back to meet the Elvenlord's gaze.

Elrond's brow furrowed. " _A_ chance. But, Eda, I have seen hundreds of possible paths for you. That is but one. And a very unlikely one, at that."

Tears blurred my vision again, and I rested my forehead against Elrond's chest. His hands rubbed my back gently, and stroked my wild hair. My voice shaky, I asked, "Does it end happily, my lord?"

"No," he replied honestly. "It does not."

And so I cried. I cried for everything I'd lost, and everything I would never have. And Elrond held me, quietly letting my tears soak into his robes. And when I was too tired to keep crying, Elrond silently guided me inside the building and to one of the armchairs. Exhausted, I collapsed into its soft embrace and closed my eyes.

The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was, "Sleep well, Amariel. May peace find you, someday. Somehow."

I awoke to someone entering the room. I groaned and straightened in the armchair, grimacing at the crick in my neck. Ugh. I probably would've been better off sleeping on the floor.

"Good morning, Eda."

I blinked and looked up at Elrohir, who was standing over me. "Mmph." I swiped a hand over my eyes and blinked. "Waddaya want?"

Elrohir gave a tight smile. "I need you to come with me." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

I frowned. What in Mordor was going on? "Why?" I asked cautiously, still trying to blink away the last tendrils of sleep.

"You are hereby charged with falsely sounding the alarm and causing discord," Elrohir said quietly. "I place you under arrest. Orders of Lord Elrond."

I tensed. My knife was in my sleeve, but in my curled up position on the chair, I was at a severe disadvantage. But if I managed to jump up and stand on the chair...our height difference would be evened out. But, Eru, I didn't want to hurt Elrohir.

"Don't do it," he murmured. "Father said it would just be for a few days."

I bit my lip.

"Please, Eda," Elrohir said. "I don't want to fight you."

I hesitated for a long moment. Then, finally, I nodded. The will to run had left without a trace. I deliberately stood, moving slowly to show Elrohir I wasn't going to fight.

"I must ask you to surrender your weapon," he said gently.

I scowled. Technically, my knife wasn't a weapon. It was a hunting knife. But that had to be what he was talking about.

Elrohir caught my wrist and reached into my sleeve. His fingers grazed the hilt of my knife. Oh no you did not. _Nobody_ touches my knife without permission. I swung around, ready to fight.

Elrohir threw me down onto my stomach and pressed his knee into my back. He took my knife, then tied my wrists tightly. "I didn't want this," he said regretfully. Then he pulled me to my feet, then sighed and took a handful of my hair. "Come on." Elrohir propelled me toward the door.

We left the building and descended many staircases. We passed no one the entire time—Rivendell seemed almost deserted. Odd. We finally came to a place I'd never visited before—the dungeons.

There were many cells carved into the mountainside, with wrought-iron doors that looked impossible to jimmy. The cells themselves were dry and clean, with a single bench-like cot at the back of each. Elrohir opened one of the doors and nudged me inside.

"I'm afraid to untie you," he said honestly, a small smile on his face.

"You don't need to untie me," I said, trying to keep the desperate edge out of my voice. "Just, give me my knife back." When he frowned, I added in a whisper, "Please."

Elrohir shook his head as he closed the cell door. "I can't do that, I'm sorry. But when my father finishes with his council, I will speak with him."

My ears perked up. "What is this council I keep hearing of?"

He scowled. "I know not. Every time I ask, Father tells me I will understand someday."

"Perhaps he thinks you aren't old enough," I said in a teasing voice.

"But Elladan is attending!"

"He's older than you," I pointed out.

"By five minutes," Elrohir grumbled.

"Six minutes and twenty-five seconds," I corrected, smirking.

"How did you—!" Elrohir started, then realization dawned on him. "Oh. ..."

I winced and looked away. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. I just couldn't resist a good argument. Nothing new there.

"So..." Elrohir leaned against the wall. "You were the one that sounded the alarm last night?"

"Why do you care?" I muttered.

He gave a slow shrug. "I guess I was just wondering...did my father put you up to it?"

I frowned. Why would Elrond _encourage_ a false alarm? Then my eyebrows shot up. "Elrohir," I said, my tone teasing, "were you with Rusceth last night?"

A flush crawled up his neck. "Is that to say he did not?"

I would've crossed my arms...but my hands were tied. Instead, I cocked my head to the side. "Answer _my_ question first."

Elrohir straightened and gave me a stiff bow. "If you'll excuse me, I have responsibilities that I must tend to. Please do not attempt to escape." With that, he turned and strode away.

"Wait!" I yelled. "My knife!"

But he kept walking.

My knife. Elrohir had just walked away with my knife. I began pacing, trying to calm my breathing, but failing. I finally launched a kick at the wall. Pain shot up my foot.

"Ow!" I hopped backward, but without my arms free to balance myself, I ended up falling to my rear.

Eru damn it all, I'd lost my knife.


	13. Another Adventure

A day and a night passed, and I remained in my cell. Twice, some random Elf would come and hand-feed me a small portion of lembas bread and wine. I gratefully drank the wine now—after all, why not? I'd checked the cell for any imperfections, any weaknesses that I could exploit. But with no flaws to speak of, and my hands tied, it was a pointless exercise.

It was just after midday on the day after I'd been arrested, when Bilbo came waddling down the center aisle between the cells. An elleth trailed along behind him, watching him closely.

"Bilbo!" I exclaimed, moving to the front of the cell.

"Eda," he answered, his eyes saddening as they skimmed over me. "Elrond told me I'd find you down here. What did you do?"

I sighed. "I gave the false alarm, night before last."

Bilbo nodded slowly, then he turned to the elleth. "I'd like to speak with Eda in private, if I may."

The elleth gave a nod and left.

Bilbo gave a devious chuckle. "That was easy." I raised an eyebrow, but Bilbo was already talking again, now in an undertone. "Here. Let me loosen the ropes."

Confused, I turned around so that Bilbo could reach between the bars and access my bonds. His nimble fingers quickly loosened the ropes, until I could wriggle my hands out. I started to wriggle my hands around, but he raised a hand.

"Don't. Not yet. Wait until dark. And here." He reached into his pocket, and my eyes widened as he pulled out a key. He slipped it into the cell, and into my own pocket. "There you are," he whispered, grinning.

I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

"So you can escape," he said, the _duh_ evident in his tone.

"I know," I hissed, "but..."

"No time for questions," Bilbo interrupted. "You should go have another adventure—for me."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Bilbo—"

"Shush, now." Bilbo swallowed hard, struggling with tears of his own. "This is goodbye, lass. It shouldn't be made harder." He reached in and patted my shoulder. "Remember what I told you, Eda."

"And I you, Bilbo," I replied shakily.

He gave a wan smile, then waddled out of the prison.

That night, when darkness had fallen, I still hadn't been caught with the key, or with my loosened bonds. So after I'd been given my simple evening meal, and darkness had settled over Rivendell, I began wiggling free of the ropes.

That done, I paused and listened for anyone who might be around. Hearing nothing, I pulled the key out of my pocket and reached between the cell bars, then pushed the end of the key into the keyhole. I slowly, gently twisted it until it gave a loud _click_.

I jumped and listened. No footsteps anywhere, no voices. Apparently the Shadow Walker didn't warrant any guards in the Elves' minds.

I pushed the door open, wincing at the low squeal it emitted, but not stopping. Finally free, I exited the cell and left the dungeon.

Luckily, clouds blanketed the sky, making the night very dark. I moved through Rivendell unseen, even by the few Elves I passed on my way to my room. When I finally reached my room and opened the door, I was met by a chilling sight. The bed was stripped of its linins, my wardrobe had been emptied, and my swords were gone.

No matter what Elrohir had said, I wasn't intended to return to my bedchambers.

The smartest and easiest thing would've been for me to just leave Rivendell, and probably head back to Bree—lay low for awhile. But I didn't fancy traveling anywhere without my swords, and I _wouldn't_ leave without my knife. So, I headed for the one place my weapons were bound to be.

The House of Elrond.

The journey there was quiet and uneventful. But my heart was hammering when I went through the front door. I slowly ascended the staircase, listening for any movement other than my own. My hands were trembling; if I met with someone...well, I didn't have any weapons. None.

I wasn't exactly sure where Elrond would have stowed my blades, either. A random closet? Some personal weapons cache? His bed chambers? I rather hoped it wasn't the latter. But I would tear this building down brick by brick before I left my knife behind.

A dim light flickering under a closed door caught my attention. The throne room. But why would anyone be in there?

My eyes widened. Of course! Elrond had seen this coming. All of this. And he was waiting for me. He'd created a trap that he knew I'd willing walk into.

I gritted my teeth. I'd been set up. And as much as I wanted to, as much as I _should_ have, I couldn't walk away. I pushed the door open and walked in.

Lord Elrond sat on his throne, visible only by the torches lit throughout the room. Curtains had been drawn to cover the massive windows. Elrond's dark eyes glinted in the firelight as they rested on me. At his feet lay my sword belt. In his lap sat my knife.

"You do not enter ignorantly," he said, "yet you could have departed without resistance."

"I won't leave without my knife," I replied, my voice surprisingly strong.

"You will not leave at all," Elrond replied loftily.

"Why not?"

"The future is uncertain," he replied wearily, rubbing his eyelids. "You are a variable we cannot afford."

"A _variable?_ " I snarled. "Is that all I am to you?"

Elrond stood, his face betraying his frustration. "This is not about _you_ , Amariel! This is about _all_ of Middle Earth— _everyone_."

Tears stung at my eyes, but I blinked them back. I could hardly argue against Elrond's foresight—but did his foresight justify him controlling my future?

"Amariel," Elrond sighed, sinking onto his throne once more. "Not all that I see in your future is evil. I have foreseen happiness, as well. Here, in Rivendell."

My eyes narrowed. "How?"

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkest corner of the room. "Eda."

My stomach dropped as Elladan came into view. His dark eyes were full of longing and sincerity. The last word he'd spoken to me immediately came to mind, and I flinched. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, the hurt audible in my tone.

He moved closer, hesitantly, as though trying not to spook a wild animal. "I am here to beg your forgiveness."

I scoffed, but my heart was throbbing. This was what I wanted. _Someone_.

"Please, Eda," Elladan pleaded. "Father told me of my mistake. I knew not that the creature Gollum had attacked you. If I had known, I would have—"

Elrond cleared his throat, and Elladan bit his lip. A flush crawled up his neck, barely visible in the low light, but there nonetheless. "My behavior toward you was also inappropriate. My desire is to start over—to court you properly, with the intention of getting married."

My heartbeat stuttered, then began to race. This couldn't be happening. Not to someone like me.

Elladan strode over and took my hands. Then he knelt, so that we were roughly the same height. "Eda," he said, looking deep into my eyes, "will you marry me?"

My lips parted in shock. "I—" How was I supposed to answer? My heart was rejoicing in the metaphorical streets, but my gut told me this was wrong. _All_ wrong. Elladan was, as best I could tell, being sincere. But Elrond had made it clear his primary goal was to keep me in Rivendell.

At the same time...Elrond said he'd foreseen my happiness here in Rivendell. And Lord Elrond wouldn't lie.

Would he?

"Eda," Elladan whispered, his wide eyes looking deep into mine. "Please, say something."

I bit my lip, and finally made my decision. "Elladan, do you remember when I said you would owe me?"

"Yes," he answered, frowning a little.

"I had it all wrong," I whispered, looking up at him through my eyelashes. " _I_ owe _you_."

He leaned in, his eyes closing. "You don't owe me anything, sweetheart," he breathed.

I placed a finger on his lips, stopping him. "But I do," I answered. I pulled my leg back, and took a deep breath. Then I drove my foot into his groin with all the power I could muster.

Elladan grunted, and his body went rigid. I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto the floor. "I would rather marry a _Dwarf_ ," I snarled, launching another blow at his stomach.

Lord Elrond's hands took my shoulders and pulled me away from his son. "Enough."

I wasn't finished. "I would insult you," I spat at Elladan. "But Nature did a far better job than I _ever_ could."

"Elladan," Lord Elrond said, "as soon as you're able, please leave us."

Elladan nodded, and slowly, agonizingly, peeled himself off the floor and stood. Then he stiffly exited the room.

"Admit it," I said, smirking, "he deserved that."

"He did," Elrond responded. "But I hardly appreciate you abusing my heir. Nor does this earn you your freedom."

I winced. Darn it. Wait...where was my knife? My gaze wandered to the throne. There it was, sitting on the seat. If I could just grab that...and run...

I wrenched free of Elrond's grip and made a dash for the throne. A hand snagged my wrist, yanking me around the other way. I staggered and fell, striking my cheek on the tile. I blinked a few times, and grimaced. Then I slowly pushed myself to hands and knees.

Elrond walked to the throne and picked up my knife. Then he slowly returned to me. "Please," he said, his eyes full of sorrow. "Do not resist. Stay in Rivendell."

"Can you not see?" I cried. "I do not _belong_ in Rivendell!"

"Where _do_ you belong, Amariel?" His voice was quiet, but challenging.

"With shadow," I replied in a whisper. "And wherever my traitorous heart leads next." Meeting his gaze, I said, "I cannot stay in Rivendell."

"Nor can you leave." Elrond grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, then forced me onto my stomach, on the floor. Then he took a handful of my hair and pulled my head back, drawing my throat taut. Then he placed the blade of my knife on my throat. "Forgive me," he said, his voice cracking.

"My lord!" I cried, helpless in his grip. "Please, hear my words."

A hesitation. Then, "Speak."

"I do not believe you are evil," I said, unable to hide the quiver in my voice. "Nor do I think you have ill intentions. And you are very powerful, with your gift of foresight."

The blade pressed against my throat. "Flattery will not spare your life," Elrond growled.

My words tumbled out in a rush. "But only Illùvatar has the right to control Fate. Foresight does not give you the right to choose my path. Nor does it justify your attempt to deliver judgment. My lord—you overstep your authority."

Elrond hesitated. The hammering of my heart was audible. Practically echoing in the silence. Finally, he removed the knife from my throat and released me. Gently took me by the arms and pulled me to my feet. Then he turned me around to face him. His expression was lined with sadness—but also relief.

"You speak with wisdom far beyond your years, Amariel. And while I act on behalf of all...I stand corrected." He held my knife out to me, hilt-first. "You are free to leave." He met my gaze, looking as though he wanted to say something else, but he apparently opted not to.

I took my knife without a word, then strode over to the throne, where my swords were still waiting for me. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Elrond wasn't bluffing, but he made no move to stop me. I quickly hid my knife in my sleeve, then strapped my sword belt on. With one final glance at Lord Elrond, I moved to leave the room.

"Eda," Lord Elrond said quietly, almost meekly, as I reached the door.

I stopped, and reluctantly looked back. "Yes?"

Elrond's eyes were full of regret. "As a father would love a daughter, so love I you. Should you ever choose to return...you will be welcome. And you have my word—never again will I attempt to restrain you so."

I was torn. I wanted run to him, wrap my arms around him, tell him that I loved him as well. But my pride was stronger. He'd almost killed me. I lifted my chin, gritting my teeth and forcing back the tears trying to weasel out.

"Goodbye."

The single word came out colder than I meant for it to. Colder than I _wanted_. But I wouldn't take it back now. So instead, I turned away and left the throne room. Then I flew down the stairs as fast as my feet would carry me.

Rivendell was a dark place that night. Shadow concealed me the entire way to the front gate, yet I found the darkness oppressive. A few tears slipped out before I could stop them; already, I was ashamed of my behavior following Lord Elrond's course correction. He may have been in the wrong, and he may have tried to kill me—but he didn't mean it against me, and he didn't deserve the treatment I had given him.

Thank Eru, there were no guards at the front gate, and I made it out of the city unnoticed. Right away I was met with a fork in the path. The road to the left would take me east, toward Mirkwood, Dale, and Erebor. The road to the right curved south, toward Moria, Isengard, and eventually the kingdom of Gondor.

I looked left. I could go home, if you could call what awaited me a home. I could be mature and accept my wretched inheritance.

I looked right. I would doubtless find adventure in this direction. Old enemies, waiting to jump out and haunt me. New enemies to be made. That sounded like a lot more fun than what awaited me in the northwest corner of Middle Earth.

I went right. My feet immediately felt the unevenness of the dirt in the road, and I paused to examine. Footprints of all sizes and shapes littered the ground—I distinctly picked out three, no, _four_ sets of prints belonging to Hobbits, one Dwarvish set, one Elvish, two Men, and what could have only been Gandalf's footprints—intermittently marked by the butt of his staff.

I paused and bit my lip. Where would nine of Middle Earth's most diverse _agree_ to go together? And why?

Adventures, beware. Because here I come.


	14. I Eat Crow, Not Crebain

**Chapter Thirteen: I Eat Crow, Not Crebain**

I followed the company for days. Stupid me, I hadn't bothered to grab my satchel or _any_ provisions. So I was stuck with whatever Nature decided to provide.

This company of oddities didn't travel very quickly, so I should have been able to catch up with ease. But when it takes thirty minutes to pick a handful of berries, or dig up a few edible roots, catching up with a snail would be a chore.

Then there was the small matter of water.

The company stayed relatively close to the Bruinen for three days, then veered south while the river continued westward. And while they had canteens, I didn't. But, determined to find the cause of such a mixed company, I stubbornly followed them.

The first day without water was torture. My black outfit protected me from direct sunlight, but not the heat, and my skin released precious moisture in a failed attempt to keep me cool.

On the second day, turning back wasn't an option. The closest water source was this company.

It was almost noon when an idea struck my dehydrated brain. Reaching down as I walked, I pulled up a handful of grass and began to chew on the long stalks. Bitter fluid moistened my parched tongue, and I eagerly continued to suck the juices out. It wasn't much, but it was just enough.

A couple of hours later, the rich, warm scent of sausages sent my stomach into a frenzy. They had to be close; sausages didn't just appear on the open plain. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the horizon. There. A thin wisp of white smoke trailed into the air, barely visible, but definitely there. I trotted toward it.

As I drew closer, the soft _ting_ of metal on metal rang out. I took cover under the thick bushes covering the ground and crawled closer to observe.

The company had made their camp in the heart of the large stone protrusions this area was famous for. In a small clearing, a Man faced two Hobbits, all holding swords. The two rascals from Bilbo's birthday party! I scowled. Who had given those little troublemakers _swords_?

Several observers watched quietly as the Man engaged one of the Hobbits in a light spar, moving carefully and instructing as he went. And as I looked from one member of the company to another, I realized I'd met most of them. Aragorn watched the Hobbits learn to fight, silently chewing on the end of his pipe. On the opposite side of the camp, Gandalf and Gimli were looking off in the distance, also smoking. Frodo and Samwise were watching their fellow Hobbits, and—my mouth watered— _eating_.

Suddenly, an Elf trotted across the camp and gracefully hopped up onto one of the boulders. His blond hair was all too familiar, as were the bow and arrows slung across his back.

Prince Legolas.

A shriek snapped my attention away from the ellon. One of the Hobbits dropped his sword and shook his hand.

"Sorry!" exclaimed the Man.

The injured Hobbit ran over to him and kicked him in the shin.

"For the Shire!" the other Hobbit bellowed, and charged in with his sword, attacking the Man's well-protected rear end.

The Man fell, laughing, and began gently tussling with the Hobbits. Aragorn also laughed, and Samwise rolled his eyes and glanced around. His blue eyes rested on a dark spot in the blue sky. "What is that?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli groused, apparently upset about something.

"It's moving fast," the Man said, standing. "Against the wind."

"Crebain, from Dunland," Legolas announced matter-of-factly, jumping off the boulder.

"Hide!" Aragorn bellowed. "Frodo, take cover!"

The fellowship burst into a whirlwind of action. The Man herded the Hobbits under a nearby bush, and the others gather everything that would give away their location and take cover.

But the Crebain weren't looking for them. They were looking for _me_.

I burst out of hiding and ran to the boulder Legolas had just occupied. I leaped up onto it, standing in clear sight of the oncoming birds. "Saruman!" I screamed. "Are you looking for me!?" I drew my swords. "Well, congratulations! You found m—"

A force knocked me sideways, off the boulder. We hit the ground hard and rolled, my attacker grasping my wrists. He forced me to release my swords, and pinned my arms above my head. When we finally rolled to a stop, we were under an outcropping of rock, and he was laying on top of me. His face hovered over mine, his blonde hair falling all around. His eyes were filled with fury, like blue fire. Probably because I'd given away their hiding spot.

I didn't deem it wise to speak as the birds swarmed around. Legolas probably would've found a way for looks to kill without lifting a finger. But, after the Crebain decided to leave, I allowed myself to smirk. "Enjoying yourself, princess?"

Legolas gave a wordless snarl and dragged me out of our little hiding spot. With one hand gripping my hair and the other securing my two hands in front of me, Legolas dragged me toward Gandalf, who was also coming out of hiding. As was the rest of the company. They were all giving me curious looks.

"Mithrandir," Legolas called, his voice full of disgust.

Gandalf raised one gray eyebrow, his eyes full of mirth. "Well. I hardly expected to find _you_ here, Ama—"

I sent him a desperate glare.

"—Eda," he corrected himself.

Thank Illùvatar. I let out a soft exhale.

Aragorn trotted over, his brow furrowed, but smiling confusedly. "Eda. It's been a long time since last we met."

Legolas's grip on my hair tightened. "You know her?" he growled.

Ugh. It was time for this to stop. The attitude was tolerable, but the hair was unacceptable. I pulled against his hold, and Legolas braced against me, as I expected. I used the momentum to add a little extra punch as I kicked him between the legs.

Legolas gave a startled grunt and released his hold on me, leaning over. I grabbed his tunic and slammed my forehead into his.

Honestly. Do they _never_ see it coming!?

I vaguely heard Gimli burst into laughter as Legolas slumped to the ground. I brushed my hands onto my pants, feeling rather satisfied. Then I remembered Aragorn.

"Aragorn!" I cried, running over to him and throwing my arms around his neck.

He chuckled and patted my back. "How have you been?"

"Meh," I replied. "Not too bad. Been thrown out of a few places, shot at a few times, and nearly lost my virginity. So, the usual. And you?" I pulled back and looked up at him, smirking. "Bored of Arwen yet?"

Aragorn frowned reprovingly, gently ending our embrace. "No, Eda. I plan to propose as soon as I return to Rivendell."

"Oh." I pretended to pout. Aragorn looked down and shook his head, masking a chuckle. Then his attention wandered, and he looked over my shoulder. I turned.

A horse galloped toward us, carrying a dark-haired ellon. As they drew closer, it became clear that the rider was Elrohir. He pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. "Eda," he said, walking closer.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, trying to ignore the cold, sinking feeling in my stomach.

"To give you this." Elrohir untied a satchel from his saddle, and extended it to me. _My_ satchel. "And to beg that you return with me to Rivendell."

I took the satchel and opened it. Within were many more supplies than I usually stocked—extra bandages, rope, and even a compass, in addition to lembas bread and a water skin. I snatched the water skin and feverishly pulled the top off, then began chugging the lukewarm, _delicious_ water down.

"Careful," Aragorn murmured, tugging the water away. "Not all at once."

I gazed at the water skin longingly, but he was right. Eru, it would be embarrassing if I barfed in front of everyone. The time I puked for all the orcs to see was plenty bad enough.

"Eda?" Elrohir said, bringing my attention back. "Please?"

Return to Rivendell? I frowned and shook my head. "No. Your father and I had this conversation, and I haven't changed my mind since then."

Elrohir bowed his head in defeat. "I will not attempt to force you. Father was specific in telling me not to." He sighed, then said, "I will waste no more of your time." With that, Elrohir remounted his horse and rode away.

"What!" Legolas snapped, finally managing to stand. He still had his hands braced on his knees, though. Aww. That must've hurt worse than I thought. "She cannot remain with us!"

Gandalf frowned at Legolas. "And why ever not, Thranduilion? Alone, she could die on this plain. With us, she may survive—and our fellowship could use another aiding hand."

Legolas scowled, but opted to remain silent.

"That is," Gandalf added, looking to me with a smile, "if you would care to join our quest."

I glanced around the strange company. Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli. Frodo and Samwise. Their Hobbit friends. The Man, who I'd never met. And even the moody Prince Legolas. I could think of no other people I'd rather pass my time with. And, hey, they had food. What's not to like?

"I would be honored," I said, giving a cocky bow.

Samwise approached, awkwardly carrying my swords and wearing a hesitant grin. Handing them to me, he said, "'Ere's your swords, miz Eda. And...welcome to the Fellowship."

I smiled, sheathing my swords. "Thank you, Samwise." I looked up and glanced from person to person. "So. Where are we going?"

We spent the remainder of the day walking east, toward Mt. Caradhras. Its intimidating peak loomed above the other surrounding mountains, seemingly so nearby, yet after the entire day of walking, we barely made it to the foothills by nightfall.

Finally, we stopped for the night. The Man, who had introduced himself as Boromir, built a small fire with the assistance of the rascals, Pippin and Merry. Gandalf and Aragorn conversed quietly at the edge of the fire's glow, and Gimli sat down a short distance away, smoking his pipe. Samwise knelt by the fire, cooking supper and occasionally sampling directly out of the pan. Meanwhile, Frodo sat a short ways away, gazing off into the darkness, his mind elsewhere. And Legolas was in the shadows somewhere doing Eru knows what.

I was sitting a comfortable distance from the fire, and curious to see what had been packed for me, I opened my satchel and began to rummage.

I pulled out a package of lembas bread, two rolls of bandages, and a simple medical kit. Then my fingertips grazed a cold, smooth surface. My hand closed around the compass and I pulled it out.

The casing was gold in color, with a design of silver leaves intertwined and wrapping around the face of the compass. The needle was designed as an Elvish arrow, and the background was either black or very dark blue—I couldn't tell which in the low light. In place of an N for north, was an intricately-designed star. But, to my utter disappointment, the beautiful needle wandered aimlessly, pointing at nothing in particular, and certainly not north. Disgusted at the beautifully worthless trinket, I tossed it toward the fire.

A hand snaked out and caught the compass before it could touch the flames, and Legolas eyed me, his wary expression hinting at curiosity. His gaze wandered to the compass, then back to me.

"You can have it," I said. "It doesn't work."

Legolas frowned and turned his attention back to what he held. Absentmindedly, he seated himself beside me, turning the compass over to examine the back. Peeking over his shoulder, I could barely make out some Elvish lettering.

"What does it say?" I asked quietly.

He shot me a somewhat irritated glance, then began to read in an enchanting low voice, "'Where the heart leads, the feet will follow.

To misunderstand the heart's desires is to walk in shadow.

But when the heart leads true, the feet do not falter.

Strength will not fail you, nor will your courage fade.'"

I gazed at Legolas as he read. The harsh glow of the firelight washed his face in gold, while the faint moonlight touched his pale hair with silver. And as he murmured the last phrase, I was suddenly caught in his stunning gaze.

He blinked, ending the moment. "This is a Foragar—a compass pointing it's holder to the deepest desire of their heart. I thought these were but myth..." He looked down at the compass in his hand, and I followed his wondering gaze. Unlike when I'd held it, the arrow pin was pointed rigidly in one direction.

At me.

My eyes rounded, and I looked up at Legolas. His eyebrows shot up, and he scrambled away from me, hunching over the compass for a moment. Then he exhaled. "There, you see?" he said, scooting over to my side again. "The pin hasn't moved. It's pointing east. Toward Mt. Caradhras."

He spoke the truth. The pin _hadn't_ been pointing at me, after all.

Legolas pressed the compass into my palm. "I would not rob you of such a treasure."

I gazed at the remarkable tool in my hand. The pin wandered again, and I sighed. Then I glanced toward the peak of the mountain. How could Legolas's deepest desire be to scale its imposing height? He didn't seem entirely convinced of that, either. But all that lay east of Caradhras and the Misty Mountains was Erebor, and...

"Mirkwood," I mused, glancing at Legolas. "Mirkwood lies east of here."

He gave me a sharp glance. Standing, he said stiffly, "Good evening." Then he walked away.

My eyes fell once more to the compass, and I tucked it into my pocket. I couldn't deny the little throb in my chest at Legolas's determination to show he did not care for me. But, I did not join this fellowship for romance, or to flirt. I had joined to find adventure, and companionship. And, I decided as I nestled down into the chilly grass, without romance getting in the way, I might find it here, with these people.

 **Legolas**

I observed this strange girl from the shadows as she quietly put the Foragar in her pocket and settled into the grass, occasionally fluffing a certain area up much the way a cat would. My heart was still recovering, slowing to its average rate, after that minor incident. Because for one horrifying moment...

I thought it _was_ her.

But, no, it was merely pointing further east—toward Caradhras, or Mirkwood, as she had mentioned.

Mordor, why did she have to be so _observant_?

At length, her breaths slowed. Her final position of rest was on her stomach, her face pillowed on her arms. Her shoulders, broad for one as short as she, rose and fell rhythmically, and her wild, frizzy hair fanned out around her.

"Strange, is she not?"

I started. Never before had Aragorn succeeded in taking my by surprise. This must've just been a bad day for me. Training my expression into neutrality, I replied, "She is, indeed." We were silent for a moment, and when my friend offered no further information, I said, "You care for her."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Not the way I care for Arwen—but yes. Eda is hard _not_ to care for."

I bit back my scoff a millisecond too late. Aragorn shot me a mildly amused side glance. In a dry, sarcastic tone, I replied, "Indeed, she is nothing short of endearing."

He gave a low chuckle, his teeth flashing in the low light. "She cottons to some people better than others."

My gaze wandered to her stumpy frame. She slept like one exhausted, like the end of Middle Earth wasn't nearly upon us. But awake, she was a snarky little ogre. She had a twisted little smirk that reeked of victory when she knew she'd won. Everything about her screamed rebellion, from the form-fitting trousers she wore to her improper behavior. And yet—

Aragorn laid a hand on my shoulder, startling me yet again. "What troubles you, my friend?"

I swallowed, briefly meeting his attentive gaze. Aragorn rarely asked me such direct and pointed questions, but when he did, he never let go until I'd answered.

"I—it's just—" I closed my eyes, that too-familiar throb in my heart surfacing. "She reminds me of an elleth from long ago."

"Tauriel."

I winced, and nodded silently. I had told Aragorn of my feelings for... _her_...shortly after he and I began traveling together. Though, frankly, I was surprised he remembered. My heart had broken sixty years ago—nearly a lifetime for a Man. Yet, Aragorn was always considerate of those around him, even when he was barely of age.

With a sigh, I said, "When _she_ left for the Undying Lands, I thought my heart would heal. I thought the Valar would grant me another chance at love, and I thought I would learn to be content."

I met Aragorn's gaze, and my eyes began to mist. "I am _not_ content. My heart lies cold in my chest, and with every reminder of _her_ , I can barely _breathe_ for the longing." I blinked, swallowing the emotion rising in my throat.

Aragorn was silent for a long moment, shifting his gaze out to Eda and allowing me to compose myself. After a long moment, he murmured, "How long do you plan to remain in Middle Earth?"

Perceptive, as always. I looked away. "Through the end of this quest."

A long pause. Then Aragorn placed his hand on my shoulder once more. "You have been my good friend for the majority of my life. And I will miss you dearly. But I will not begrudge you for desiring peace."

I turned and met his saddened gaze. "Thank you, my friend."

He nodded quietly, then left me alone with my thoughts, and my ghosts.


	15. Precious Moments

**Chapter Fourteen: Precious Moments**

We continued our journey early the next morning, beginning the treacherous climb up the side of Mt. Caradhras. None of us really conversed, except Merry and Pippin, but instead climbed in silence.

A couple of hours in, we began slogging through snow. It was wet, and easily mixed with the soft mud below, and walking became three times more difficult for all of us—except Legolas. He trod lightly over the soft snow, never breaking the surface. He smirked at my struggle as he passed, and I glared back. Aside from Gimli, I was having the most difficult time of all of us. My short, solid build was not to my advantage here.

But Gimli was stronger than me, and wasn't having trouble with getting altogether stuck. I was. With each agonizing step, I gradually fell to the back of the company. We'd nearly reached the edge of the muddy spot—up ahead was thicker, colder snow that wouldn't turn to mud as easily. But I stepped into a bit of a hole, and could not step out. With everyone's backs to me, no one saw my predicament. And I was too proud to call out after them.

I struggled, thrashing against the freezing mud encasing my shins, but only managed to sink up to mid-thigh.

The company had left the muddy area and was moving much faster now. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I bit my lip, struggling even harder to free myself. I refused to be the weak one on the team. I wanted to be self-sufficient, and earn their respect. Not their pity.

Cold soaked into my boots, and I shivered as melting snow pooled around my toes. I gazed longingly after the company; they were a good fifty yards away now. I would have to call for help. I couldn't stay here forever.

Just then, Legolas glanced over his shoulder, his eyes resting on me, and he stopped walking. Touching Aragorn's shoulder, he said something, and Aragorn looked back also. Then he nodded, and Legolas began jogging back toward me.

I closed my eyes, shivering, trying not to let my teeth chatter. Why Legolas? Of all people, why did _he_ have to be the one to come back? But as he stepped lightly onto the mud slush, I understood. It made sense.

"You are a fool," he stated without preamble. His tone wasn't as harsh as I'd expected; in fact, it was almost...amused? But his next words were much sharper. "Why did you not ask for help?" he demanded.

"I w-was ab-bout to c-call," I answered, looking away.

Legolas came within reach and stared down at me. I, on the other hand, was too embarrassed and cold to muster a good glare, so I looked away. As deep in the mud as I was, my head reached just over his knees. That didn't soothe my pride, either.

With a sigh, Legolas extended a hand to me. I grasped his wrist, and he grasped mine, then he gripped my elbow with his other hand. "Hold onto my shoulder," he instructed, and I obeyed. Then with a strength I didn't know his lithe frame possessed, he pulled me out of the mud and into his arms.

I blushed. Hard. "Umm. I c-can walk..."

Legolas didn't answer, just briefly glanced at me as he began making his way back to the rest of the fellowship.

I bit my lip, then murmured, "Th-thank you."

He looked down at me again, no trace of warmth in his ice-blue eyes. "This is what a team _does_."

I swallowed and said, "I've never been on a team before." 

He glanced at me. "A team is only valuable if the individuals can accomplish more as a unit than as individuals."

"It helps if the individuals can accomplish things on their own, as well," I muttered.

"True," Legolas said, "but you do not have to be the strongest to be valuable to the team. For all our benefit," he said, looking me in the eye, "you must not hesitate to request assistance."

I wasn't sure what to do with his intense gaze, so I looked away and mumbled, "Okay."

"You must promise me." Legolas's voice was cold and demanding, and I could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of my face.

"I promise," I whispered, not meeting his gaze.

We were silent the rest of the way to the fellowship, but the moment we reached the others, Gandalf exclaimed, "What were you thinking, Eda? Why didn't you call out?"

"I was about to," I mumbled.

"You cannot wait for one of us to notice your needs," Aragorn said gently, but emphatically. "We will notice too late."

I nodded, embarrassed by the whole situation. And to make matters worse, Legolas quickly dumped me onto the snow. Gimli glared at the ellon, then came over to help me up.

We continued walking. Legolas dropped back and remained behind me with Aragorn; otherwise, I walked at the back of the company, with Frodo in front of me and Boromir in front of him.

Hours passed, and the sun rose further in the sky. Sometime about noon, Frodo stumbled along where Boromir had cut a path through the snow. His legs gave out, and he collapsed, falling to the soft snow and rolling.

I moved forward, ready to catch the Hobbit, but a golden sparkle in the snow diverted my attention.

Precious!

I snatched it up, along with a handful of snow. Peeking between my fingers, I examined my find. It was a simple gold ring with a chain looped around it, heavy, and... _warm_ in my hand. The snow melted, dribbling from my palm, but the ring...the ring was _beautiful._ And it was _mine._

A gloved hand snatched my ring away.

"Hey!" I shrieked.

Boromir held my ring up by the chain, examining it.

"Give it back!" I yelled.

Stealing was not only wrong; it was disrespectful. And for a Man like him to steal from a girl like me—well, I was going to straighten this out. And I was prepared to use my blades.

Boromir turned and snarled at me. His left hand held my ring, while his right reached for his sword.

Arms wrapped around me, pulling me away. I caught a glimpse of Aragorn restraining Boromir a moment before Legolas turned around, bodily blocking my view. I thrashed, struggling to reach my swords or knife, but I couldn't.

 _You're acting childishly_.

I didn't know if it was my voice of reason, or my inner self-critic. But I slowed my struggling, then stopped, gasping for breath.

 _They think you foolish, now._

Legolas bent down, his hair falling over my shoulder. "Eda?"

I didn't answer. I wanted to hear what this voice had to say.

 _The Ring is treacherous—but it desires a companion such as us. But we shall wait quietly. The right moment will come._

Legolas shook me. "Eda!"

I blinked and looked up at him. "...what?" My voice came out weak, but my heart was thundering. The Ring, the Ring, the Ring!...But not now. Not yet.

"You are an easy prey," he said with a dismayed sigh.

"I guess," I mumbled, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. "I just...don't know what happened." It wasn't a lie. I was confused as Mordor.

"You need not know," Legolas replied.

I glanced down at his arms, still wrapped around me. "Are you going to let me go?"

"If you can control yourself." Legolas released me slowly, as if afraid I would charge after the Ring.

 _The Ring._

I swallowed, forcing myself to remain under control. "Of course I can," I said.

Legolas backed away. Boromir and the others came into view; Aragorn had tackled him onto the snow, and Gandalf had his staff pointed at Boromir's head. Meanwhile, Frodo was carefully prying open Boromir's clenched fingers.

"Evil does not release some so readily," he said in a lofty tone.

"What happened?" I asked, looking up at the ellon.

Legolas looked down at me, his gaze hard and uncaring. "Darkness covers the land, attempting to corrupt the minds of all those willing to stand against it."

I took a deep breath and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Something sinister retreated in my thoughts, hiding in the darkest corner until I could barely feel it there.

But it was definitely there.

We kept climbing for hours. The snow grew progressively deeper and colder, and soon I was walking behind Boromir and the Hobbits. My mind repeatedly wandered to the incident with the Ring, and I caught myself watching Frodo without meaning to.

But soon, my mind was occupied with something else. Murderous-looking storm clouds rolled in, choking out the sunlight within minutes. Snow flurries began to fall, then thick snowflakes that lodged in my hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. So, pausing for a moment, I put on my mask and pulled up my hood.

The snowfall grew heavier, and soon Gandalf and Aragorn had to join Boromir in his efforts to cut a trench for us shorter folk. Gimli reluctantly joined our number, but Legolas remained separate, treading softly on the snow three feet above us.

I tucked my hands into my long sleeves and tucked my chin into my chest, resigned to outlasting the cold.

"By my beard," Gimli puffed, struggling to keep up with me. I slowed up a bit, letting him catch up. "This cold is of a bitter sort. Not nearly as harsh as Erebor in winter, mind ye," he added. "But a good deal colder than I should like."

"I've never liked the cold," I said.

"Neither have I, lass. Neither have I. Now I've been trying to convince Gandalf to let us pass through the Mines of Moria, and thus far he's refused. Eda—ye could sway him to our side. Convince him to give up going over this blasted mountain and enjoy the fine hospitality of my cousin, Balin."

I have a halfhearted smile. "The cold is only for a few days, Gimli. It's hardly unbearable."

His eyes widened a bit. "Do ye not want to visit yer home?"

I didn't scoff, but the feeling was there. But instead of answering directly, I said, "Home is where the heart is, and not a place to merely visit."

Gimli nodded reluctantly. "Well said, lass, well sai—"

The air crackled with electricity, interrupting the Dwarf. Lightning split across the black sky, shattering the darkness. The energy bolted into the mountain, perhaps twenty feet above our heads. Followed by a deafening crash of thunder. The earth cried out in pain, and boulders began to fall from the impact.

Legolas leaped into the trench. Wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. Did the same for Gimli, then jumped under an outcropping of rocks.

"Take yer filthy hand _off_ me!" Gimli bellowed.

"Perhaps next time I should leave you to be crushed," Legolas retorted disdainfully, stepping away from us.

I glanced back. Exactly where Gimli and I had been standing were a pile of massive boulders. We both would've died, if Legolas hadn't intervened. I turned to Legolas, about to thank him for both of us. But Gandalf called him.

"Legolas! Can you hear anything?"

The ellon trotted to the front of the company, passing Boromir and Aragorn, who were shielding the Hobbits. His hair tossing wildly in the storm, Legolas raised his head and closed his eyes. "There is a voice on the wind," he called back. "There is dark magic at work here."

Gandalf sighed, his breath billowing out and gusting away. "Saruman."

Lightning flashed again. Before it could strike, Gandalf raised his staff. A bolt of energy burst from the stone at the end. The two lights met head-on, exploding into a spiderweb of radiance.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn shouted. "We cannot continue! We must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf insisted. Raising his staff again, he shouted an incantation. But a moment later, a bolt of lightning struck the mountain again. More boulders tumbled down, but we were shielded under the outcropping.

"It is as I said!" Gimli bellowed. "The Mines of Moria would be a much safer route."

Gandalf looked at Gimli, a war raging in his weary eyes. Then he turned to Frodo. "Let the Ring-bearer decide."

Frodo looked up at the rest of us, shivering. The misery in his eyes said the decision had already been made. "We will go through the mines," he announced shakily.

The rest of the day was spent retracing our steps. I was beyond grateful as the temperature dropped, but with that came messier snow that soaked into my boots and clothes far easier.

We didn't stop for the night at sunset, as we had before. Instead, we kept walking, eager to rest somewhere warmer and drier. But my legs were tired and achy, and I was in danger of just lying down in the wet snow and going to sleep.

It was dark when we reached the muddy patch, and without a word, Legolas picked me up and carried me across. And he didn't set me down on the other side. Over his shoulder, Gimli shot me a dark look, and the Hobbit rascals were nudging each other and grinning. I swallowed uncomfortably, unsure what to do with myself. So I pulled out the compass, just to see what it would read.

It pointed at Legolas.

He glanced down at it, then raised an eyebrow at me, his expression less than amused.

I blushed. How does one go about explaining that? I certainly didn't want to go up Cadarhas again. Forcing myself to hold his gaze, I said, "I desire your friendship." My words rang true, surprising even me. I _did_.

Legolas looked deep into my eyes, his brow furrowing. "Do you?"

"Yes." Eru, it was uncomfortable being this _honest_.

Legolas was quiet, his expression a mixture of emotions—disbelief, surprise, and...hurt? "Then you shall have my friendship," he replied, his tone disappointingly neutral.

I hesitantly rested my head on his shoulder, an unfamiliar warmth filling my chest when he didn't shrug me off. "Thank you," I murmured.

I glanced at the compass once more, and it still pointed at Legolas. But I knew better than to believe my own explanation. It pointed _through_ Legolas. For Frodo was still behind us, working his way through the mud.

And Frodo still had the Ring.

When I woke up, I was lying on the ground with a warm brown blanket wrapped around me. Blinking, I sat up. There was a small campfire, and the rest of the company was sitting around and doing various things.

Somebody tall crouched beside me. "I see you've woken."

I looked up. It was Boromir. I squirmed uncomfortably, today's incident still fresh on my mind. "Yes. I...I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Boromir chuckled, his tone also on edge. He shifted to a sitting position beside me. He took a breath and opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, "I wanted to...to apologize. For my behavior earlier. I don't know what came over me."

I blinked. I _hadn't_ expected that. "I...of course. That is, I forgive you." I frowned. If people would only apologize to me more often, I might be better at this! "And..." I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, also. For my part in the scuffle."

"I forgive you," Boromir replied. "And I hope we can be companions for the remainder of the quest."

I smiled. "I would like that."

"So tell me," Boromir said, smiling, "where do you hail from, Eda?"

Mordor. My least-favorite question. I hesitated, unsure what to say.

"Actually," Legolas said, appearing at my other side, "I think it would be wise for her to eat." He handed me a metal plate with some steaming meat and vegetables.

I immediately bit into a soft cooked carrot, stuffing my mouth so I wouldn't have to speak. Flashing Boromir what I hoped was a convincingly-apologetic smile, I kept eating.

"Well." Boromir stood. "Perhaps we can talk later then." And he walked away.

Legolas settled in beside me, his wary eyes on the Man.

"Thank you," I murmured, hoping he thought I meant only for the food. But when he met my gaze and nodded, there was a deeper understanding in his eyes.

"I do not trust him," he replied in an equally subtle tone. "In the council, he revealed in part what his true intentions are."

I watched Boromir as he sat down with Merry and Pippin and began to talk with them. They suddenly howled out with laughter, startling the entire company. Gandalf scowled at their ruckus, and Frodo touched his chest. Sam rolled his eyes. But Aragorn, lying on the ground and smoking his pipe, just chuckled and turned to gaze into the flames of the campfire.

"He seems content, does he not?" I asked quietly, shifting gears in our conversation.

Legolas glanced at Aragorn, then turned back to look at me. "Yes," he mused. "His contentment does not come unwarranted. He has someone waiting patiently for him, back in Rivendell."

"True." I huffed. That didn't help me in the least.

Legolas caught my gaze, his blue eyes curious. "Have you no admirers at home?"

I bit my lip and looked away, my eyes resting on Aragorn once more. "I have no home. Nor have I any admirers."

Legolas scoffed. "You have the Dwarf." At my startled look, he glanced pointedly at Gimli. A teasing smile played on his lips, and humor danced in his eyes. "He finds you quite attractive, you know."

The sudden beauty in Legolas's face was nearly overwhelming. It was like a vibrant ray of sunshine cutting through the clouds during a storm. And, I was staring. I looked away, my cheeks heating. "Please. I—I don't think—" Wait. What were we even talking about?

A finger on my chin guided my gaze back to Legolas. "That he admires you?" The teasing look was gone, replaced by a sincerity that I didn't know how to react to. "Because he does." When I said nothing, he raised an eyebrow. "Have you never had admirers before?"

I paused to consider. Lovers, yes. Short-term flings with bored males of various races. But to them, I was never more than the most readily-available boredom buster. "No," I finally answered. "I have never had an admirer before."

Our eyes met, locking together. Legolas's bright blue gaze swam with an ocean of conflicting emotions, their depths unknown to me. Unshed emotions I couldn't start to understand or comprehend.

"You have one now," he whispered.

I shifted closer to him. Like gravity, I couldn't fight the unseen force pulling me in. The world around blurred, leaving just us and our bitter histories. Because somehow, I knew. I could feel the agony in his heart, the longing. And all I wanted was to take the pain away. Even if I had to bear it myself.

Legolas looked away. "And he may prove difficult to rebuff."

I straightened from my half-leaned-over position and busied my eyes with the plate sliding off my lap. Pushing it back to the center, I nibbled at a piece of meat. But I wasn't hungry. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to find a rock and hide under it.

What in Mordor had just happened?


	16. Minor Incident

**Chapter Fifteen: Minor Incident Involving a Sea Monster and an Ellon Named Legolas.**

We spent the next two days trekking to Moria. Gandalf wasn't exactly sure where the entrance was, and we spent a few hours wandering. Finally, Gimli came over to me and put his grubby hand on my arm. "Eda, lass. Ye should show Gandalf the way. I admit, he might be a bit sore, but in the end, he'll be grateful. Mark my words."

I mentally sighed. _Why_ had I told Gimli I was from Moria? Oh yeah. 'Cuz I have this little habit of lying. And now I had to admit that I'd lied, or lie again. Facepalm, facepalm, facepalm.

"To be honest, I've never been out this entrance," I answered. And please notice, this wasn't a lie. "I usually leave through the east door." Of other establishments.

"Ah," Gimli said, "a pity. But, yer honesty is a testimony to yer character."

I flinched. Ouch.

An hour or two more passed before Gandalf found the old, worn path. As we followed it, climbing Moria's foothills, structures in the stone began to come into view. They were intricately-carved statues of Dwarves, and beautifully fashioned, but there were cracks in the stone, with hardy mountain grasses and moss growing from it.

The path, too, seemed unkempt; rocks and gravel had built up, peppering the path and sometimes covering it altogether.

Gimli stumbled over some loose rocks and fell to his backside. Grumbling under his breath, he pushed himself back onto his stumpy legs and kept plugging along.

I held back a giggle, but my amusement was quickly erased when the rocks beneath my feet shifted. Hands gripped my upper arms from behind, preventing me from falling. I glanced down. The fingers were long and slender, and I could feel Legolas's heat at my back.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"That is what friends are for," he replied, shifting his hold to one of my elbows. Then he continued walking, guiding me over the treacherous terrain.

It was slow going, and the sun had set by the time the grand entrance came into view. A magnificent archway led to a narrow path beside the sheer mountainside. To the right was a murky pond, and on the other side of that were a handful of old, dying trees.

Frodo slipped, and one of his feet splashed into the water. With a gasp, he jerked it back out. The soft noises echoed hauntingly.

At the front of the company, Gandalf stopped. The path had reached a dead end. But, undeterred, Gandalf walked up to the smooth mountainside and brushed a hand over its surface. "Let's see," he muttered. "Ithildin...it mirrors only starlight and moonlight..." He turned around, looking up. The clouds parted, revealing the full moon, and parts of the stone began to glow.

I hid my startled expression as the glowing lines formed a doorway, and an inscription. I _was_ supposed to have seen this kind of thing before, after all. But still. It was amazing.

"It reads, 'The Doors of Durin, lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

The earth gave a low groan, one of long-born torture. I glanced around the company; they were listening as Gandalf explained the inscription. Naturally, I was the only one that heard it.

I turned away, facing the water. I wished I could reach the trees on the other side; trees were much easier to communicate with than the earth itself. But that would require crossing the pond, and I wanted nothing less than to touch that filthy water. So instead, I knelt and placed my hand on the ground, gently brushing away the loose gravel until I reached the stone base.

" _What troubles you?"_

The earth replied with a wail, and a few words in a language long forgotten.

I sighed and gently patted the stone. _"I'm sorry. I don't understand."_ And I stood, brushing my hand off on my trousers.

A soft touch on my shoulder made me inhale sharply. I turned, and Legolas smirked down at me. "Did I startle you?"

"A bit," I admitted.

Legolas's smirk softened a bit, until he was almost smiling. "You seemed deep in thought. What troubles you?"

I hesitated, looking away. I didn't want to lie. But I certainly wasn't telling him about my connection with the earth and its flora. Finally, I answered, "I do not like it here. Something is...wrong."

Legolas nodded. "I, too, sense evil here. But where there are Dwarves, there is always evil."

I turned around, pretending to study the water, but actually hiding an eye roll. What I saw made my blood run cold. A massive snake was emerging from the water. Slinking toward Frodo. And my Ring.

Before I could yell, it grabbed his ankle. It was no snake, but a tentacle.

Frodo shrieked as it yanked him out over the water. "Gandalf!" he cried, dangling upside-down, thrashing wildly. "Aragorn!"

Legolas ran along the edge of the water, pulling his bow from his shoulder. In one smooth movement, he whipped out an arrow and fired it. The arrowhead sank into flesh of a tentacle. Flinching, the tentacle released Frodo's ankle. Frodo landed in the shallow water and scrambled to get out.

Something cinched around my torso and yanked me into the water. With my arms pinned to my sides, I couldn't reach my swords.

"Legolas, mellon nin!" I screamed.

The earth shuddered.

Legolas whirled, firing an arrow. It embedded in the tentacle behind me. But instead of releasing me, the tentacle's grip tightened. I couldn't breathe, and my ribcage throbbed under the pressure.

"Aragorn!" Legolas bellowed. "Sword!"

Aragorn tossed his sword at Legolas. Legolas tossed him his bow and quiver. And the ellon plunged into the water. Slashing at tentacles left and right, he waded in deeper and deeper.

"Into the cave!" Aragorn yelled.

My futile gasps for breath slowed. I could feel myself being tilted backwards and upside-down. Then I was staring into the eyes of the monster itself. Its mouth opened.

A wet _squelch_ echoed out, and the monster wailed. And I was falling. Straight toward the open mouth.

Legolas vaulted onto the monster's head. He caught me in one arm, then drove the point of the blade between the monster's eyes. But it only went in a couple of inches.

The monster squealed and began thrashing wildly. Legolas's arm tightened around me, and yanking the sword from the monster's skull, he leaped onto a tentacle. Then to another, and another, remaining above the water, until he reached the edge of the pond. Then he ran through the now-open stone door.

Splashing and squealing pursued us from behind. Over Legolas's shoulder, I caught a glimpse of tentacles pulling at the stone doorway. The earth wailed as cracks streaked up into the stone ceiling. And boulders began to fall.

Up ahead, the company backed away from the cave-in. Except Aragorn. Aragorn ran forward, his eyes wide.

Because we wouldn't escape the collapse.

"No, Aragorn!" Legolas shouted, throwing me down. Then he covered me with himself.

Boulders crashed all around us. Something heavy impacted Legolas, and he grunted. The additional weight made it hard to breathe.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried.

Legolas's shaky breath warmed my neck. I could feel him trembling against me. Then he gave a soft exhale. His body relaxed. And his head fell to rest beside mine.

No.

The earth finally rested. The cave-in was finished. But my heart was breaking.

This couldn't be happening.

" _Legolas_!" Aragorn screamed. Desperation laced his voice, and something scrabbled at the rocks above.

"Aragorn," Gandalf said quietly, "they're gone."

I forced my stunned brain into action. "Wait!" I called shakily. "I'm okay!"

"And Legolas?" Aragorn demanded.

I didn't answer. I _couldn't_ answer.

The sound of rocks being rolled away and tossed aside filled the cave. The feel of Legolas's hair fanning over my face and tickling my neck was but a small comfort. Struggling to move, I brought my hand up between his arm and his side and pressed it against his ribcage. His heartbeat was faint, but definitely there.

"He's alive!" I cried.

"Hurry," Aragorn gasped. His voice seemed closer than before.

After what must've only been minutes, but seemed like hours, I could see a faint glow seeping between the rocks. "I see something," I said. "Some kind of white light."

"Then we're close." Boromir's voice this time. Finally, with the help of several, a boulder that had been directly over my head was lifted, and I could see the others.

"By my beard," Gimli said, "if it hadn't been for this boulder here, and that rock there, they both would've had their heads crushed."

"The Valar have other plans," Gandalf said quietly.

"Legolas?" Aragorn touched the back of the ellon's head, but Legolas didn't respond.

"Hold on, Eda," Boromir said, lifting another rock. "You're almost out."

"Stay with us," I whispered to Legolas. I ran my hand over his side, wincing when my fingertips brushed over a sticky moisture. I looked to Aragorn. "He's hurt. Please—hurry."

The lines in Aragorn's face deepened, and he rejoined the effort to unbury us. "Help me with this one," he said to Boromir a moment later. And together, they lifted a boulder off Legolas's back. Samwise, in the middle of removing a smaller rock, took one look at Legolas and grimaced, turning away. Aragorn's brow furrowed deeper, and he muttered, "Let's get him out."

Aragorn and Boromir, with some assistance from Gimli, carefully lifted Legolas off of me. The Hobbits immediately swooped in to help me.

"Are you 'urt, miz Eda?" Samwise said, his big eyes reflecting the low light. Pippin and Merry each took one of my hands and gently pulled me up.

"I think I'm okay," I said hesitantly, wiggling my fingers and toes, then my arms and legs. A little achy, but not injured. I slowly stood, staggering a little, but Pippin caught me.

"Maybe ye ought to rest awhile, eh?" he said, looking up at me concernedly.

"No," I replied, taking a shaky step toward the others. "I need to see Legolas."

Pippin and Merry each pulled one of my arms over their shoulders, guiding me toward the others. Aragorn was holding Legolas up in a sitting position while Boromir carefully removed the ellon's tunic. Gandalf provided the light through the stone in his staff, and Gimli watched in silence.

Boromir gently peeled away the outer tunic, leaving a thin, sleeveless, bloodstained tunic underneath. That also was wrangled off Legolas's limp body, then Aragorn gently laid the ellon on the stone floor.

I knelt, scooting to sit under Legolas's shoulders and cradle his head in my lap. Across his back was an angry red swelling, and a few cuts seeping blood.

Aragorn swore under his breath. "Gandalf, what have we in the way of medicine?"

"I have some things," I piped up, wiggling free of the shoulder straps on my satchel. Thank Illùvatar it hadn't fallen off! I rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out the bandage rolls and medical kit.

Aragorn took them, flashing me a grateful expression. Then he began to work.

I returned my attention to Legolas's head. His cheek rested on my lower thigh, and his blood-speckled hair fanned out messily across my lap and the ground. Unwilling to tolerate such beautiful hair on the dusty floor, I pulled the fallen strands up to join the rest. Unable to resist, I ran my hand over his head, stroking the silky strands as I bit my lip. My silly fantasy to touch his hair had come true—but at what price?

Legolas inhaled sharply and began to stir. I placed my hand on his warm shoulder to hold him still, and for no apparent reason, my stomach erupted with a flurry of weird, fluttery feelings. Especially when the muscles beneath my fingers tightened.

Legolas groaned and brought his arm up, his hand resting atop mine. His fingers hesitantly intertwined with mine.

"Tauriel?"


	17. New Discovery

My mouth went dry. "N-no...It's just me. Eda."

Legolas stilled, then slowly pulled his fingers out of mine. "Why am not fully dressed?" he asked, his voice cold and distant. He moved to push himself up, then he sucked in a breath and sank back into my lap.

Aragorn placed a gentle hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Legolas, my friend. You were injured, saving Eda from a cave-in. I...I thought you had fallen." His voice was barely a whisper at the last sentence. He cleared his throat, then added, "I still need to bandage the cuts."

Legolas gave a groan, which ended in a sigh. "Help me up."

I took hold on his arm, and Aragorn and I pulled Legolas into a sitting position. I admit, my gaze wandered. The toned muscles in his chest, in his stomach—not to mention his shoulders and biceps—well, they were distracting. And mouthwatering.

As Aragorn began to wrap a bandage around Legolas's torso, the ellon's brow furrowed in pain, but his luminous eyes found mine, locking me into his glare.

I tore my gaze away, tears filling my eyes. His expression said it all. I wasn't worth saving. I wasn't worth the pain he was experiencing, or the drain on the rest of the company. _I_ should have shielded _him_.

A shriek tore through the silence.

Gandalf raised his staff, brightening the illumination to fill the cave. Samwise lay on the floor, mouth open as he gaped at something he'd apparently stumbled over.

An armored skeleton.

"What?" Gimli exclaimed, looking around, wild-eyed. Skeletons littered the floor, wearing both Dwarvish armor and that of goblins'. "No!"

"We cannot go through Moria," Boromir said in a low, determined voice. "This place is a tomb."

"What would you have us do, then?" Legolas snapped under his breath.

"Dig our way out," Boromir retorted, his voice equally venomous. "Make for the Gap of Rohan, as we'd planned at the beginning."

"And face that monster again?" I said, scoffing. "I think not."

Legolas shot me a look that made it very clear he didn't need me defending him. If I could've shrunk to the size of a lizard and crawled under a rock, I would have.

"Eda is correct," Gandalf said. "Even if we _could_ dig our way out, the Watcher in Water is still alive. No—we have but one choice, and that is through the long dark of Moria."

My gaze wandered to one of the Dwarvish skeletons. Two goblin arrows protruded from his chainmail, and his jaw was locked open in an eternal scream. Whatever had killed him and his companions was still here. Unless, by some twist of luck, they had died as well.

I'd learned a long time ago, to always trust in my luck. Because it was consistently the worst possible.

"It is a three-day journey to the other side, in the best of conditions," Gandalf said. "Conditions being what they are, we had best get started."

Aragorn began helping Legolas back into his tunic. Quietly, the ellon said, "You should leave me behind."

A shocked and sobering silence fell over the company. Finally, Gimli spoke. "Ye are a brave laddie, and true to the company. Yer sacrifice shall be remembered."

My hands clenched. Gimli couldn't be serious! Or Legolas, for that matter! "I'll carry him, if I have to," I said. My voice wasn't as strong or sure as I would've liked, but the attention shifted to me. Unfortunately.

"As will I," Aragorn declared. "I'll not leave you behind, Legolas."

Defeated, Legolas looked away from the others in the company. His eyes rested on me for a moment, then moved on.

Gandalf spoke. "We must move deeper into Moria. Let us hope our presence may go unnoticed—but if it does not, we must be able to flee." The wizard extended an arm to me, motioning for me to walk with him.

I glanced at my rescuer. Aragorn was already helping Legolas up, and he refused to meet my gaze. Gritting my teeth against the throb in my heart, I grabbed my satchel, stood, and went over to Gandalf. With the stone in his staff illuminating the cave before us, we began to venture deeper into Moria's depths.

We were all very quiet at first. Every whisper could've been a shout, for how the sounds echoed off the myriad of stone walls. But after an hour or so, Samwise began mumbling encouragement to Frodo, and the rascals began complaining in undertones about their hunger.

Then Gandalf spoke to me. "How do you fare, Eda?"

I swallowed. I knew what he meant; he'd inevitably seen my exchange with Legolas, and noticed my reaction. But, sensing several gazes drilling into my back—or perhaps it was only one—I said, "I survived the cave-in well enough. Thanks to Legolas." My voice nearly broke at his name. So beautiful—yet so painful to say.

"Indeed," Gandalf replied. He gently put his arm around my shoulders, tugging my a little closer to his side. That small show of affection was all it took to drag my pain and embarrassment and hurt feelings to the surface. Hot tears began welling up in my eyes and spilling over. Gandalf lightly stroked my arm, but said nothing.

We reached a series of stairs ascending nearly straight up. They were littered with Dwarvish bodies and weapons, and Gimli gave a soft groan of grief. Gandalf began to climb, and I followed. But, my tears blurred my vision, and I misjudged the distance to the second stair. I slipped and fell onto my butt.

I wished it was possible to die of embarrassment. Because I really just wanted to end my misery here and now.

A strong pair of hands pulled me to my feet, then pulled me around to face him. Boromir wore a sympathetic expression, and he knelt down. "Here. Climb onto my back."

I swallowed back my tears and obeyed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he stood. It felt funny, riding piggy-back flush against his shield. But, at least that prevented any awkwardness.

I stilled when Boromir began to climb the staircase. It was a treacherous endeavor, and I held my breath on several occasions when Boromir's hand or foot would slip. But he always caught himself, and finally, we made it to the top. I carefully let myself down, and Boromir gave my hair a gentle tousle before I went to rejoin Gandalf.

The rest of the company reached the top of the staircase without incident, and we continued our journey. Gandalf illuminated very little of the cave at a time, only what we needed to walk, but from what little I could see, Moria had been mined away into an empty chasm, with paths like the one we were on running through the empty spaces, and occasional staircases going down—presumably to the bottom.

At length, we reached an end to the massive chasm and entered a corridor. This corridor led us into a spacious room. Along the far wall ran a _long_ wooden table, each place set, but everything _very_ dusty.

"The dining hall," Gimli breathed. He strode over to the table and lifted what appeared to be a lamb's drumstick. The meat was long gone, of course, with only teeth marks left from where the eater had gnawed at the bone.

"But no one's been here in a very long time," Boromir said.

"Gandalf," Aragorn called quietly from the back of the company. He was physically holding Legolas up. "Perhaps this is a good place to stop and rest."

Legolas gazed at the floor, not meeting anyone's gaze, and not contradicting Aragorn's suggestion.

Gandalf's sharp, silver eyes took in Legolas's state, and he nodded. "Indeed. Gimli, perhaps you could start a small fire." He nodded at a massive fireplace at one end of the room.

Gimli nodded and strode across the room, and the Hobbits moved to help him.

"Boromir," Gandalf said, "bar the door, and keep guard. Eda, pull out a chair please."

I strode over to the table and grabbed one of the chairs. They were made of solid wood and lined with iron, so I was reduced to dragging the Mordor-blasted thing, it was so heavy. Thank Eru, there was apparently some padding on the bottom of the legs, muting the scraping noise it made.

Aragorn guided Legolas to the chair, and Legolas weakly sank into the seat. Looking to Gandalf, Aragorn said, "Know you anything of healing?"

The lines in Gandalf's face deepened. "Only a few simple techniques. Healing is more of Radagast's expertise."

"Anything that could be of use?" Aragorn persisted.

Gandalf frowned. "Perhaps...a transferral of energy should enhance the natural Elvish healing process." He removed the stone from his staff, dousing its light, but a small fire had already started in the fireplace, leaving us with some light. The wizard placed his hand on one side of Legolas's head, then set the tip of the stone to the ellon's opposite temple. Legolas winced and closed his eyes.

Gandalf began muttering incantations. The stone took on a soft glow, which washed the side of Legolas's pain-ridden face in a silvery hue. After a long moment, Legolas's eyes flickered open, and the pain in his expression softened.

"Eda," Gandalf whispered breathlessly. He was bracing himself on the back of the chair, and beginning to fall.

I rushed to his side and wrapped my arms around him, holding him up. "What did you do?" I exclaimed quietly.

"Take me to the fire," he murmured, his eyes drooping. "I must rest."

Panicked, I looked to Aragorn. He nodded.

I reluctantly walked Gandalf to the fire and helped him lie down near the warmth. His eyes were already closing, but I pulled my satchel off and put it under his head as a sort of pillow. Anything would be better than this hard, stone floor. I sat down beside the sleeping wizard and stared into the fire.

I'm not sure when, but at some point, I curled up next to Gandalf, resting my head on his arm. Then I closed my eyes and dozed off.


	18. Truth Comes Out

When I awoke, Gandalf was awake, and the Hobbits were asleep. Aragorn and Legolas were seated near the fireplace also, Legolas quietly dribbling some water from his canteen onto his fingers and working the spots of blood out of his hair.

I sighed and sat up, rubbing my eyes. Gandalf had left his hat under my head as a pillow, and I gave a tired smile. Perhaps I wouldn't burn it, after all.

Gimli sat on the opposite side of the fireplace, smoking his pipe. Using the mouthpiece to point at Legolas, he gave a chortle and said, "Do ye know how to kill an Elf, Eda?"

The question caught me a bit off guard. The others each gave Gimli strange looks, save the sleeping Hobbits.

"I, umm..." How does one say yes without saying yes?

"Why, it's simple, lassie! Ye simply secure a mirror at the bottom of an ocean!" He guffawed at his own cleverness. Boromir gave a quiet chuckle, but otherwise, the joke fell flat.

"And you, Gimli," I said, cocking my head to one side. "Do you know how to drive a Dwarf mad?"

He glanced away, his smile waning. "I, erm...I cannot say that I do, lass."

I grinned. "You dangle a gold coin out of his reach."

This incited a scoff from Gandalf, chuckles from Boromir and Aragorn, and an outright laugh from Legolas. My heart swelled. Aww, Eru, did _everything_ about him have to be perfect?!

Gimli's face flushed to the color of his beard. "That is hardly an appropriate joke for a Dwarf lady!"

"Dwarf lady!" exclaimed Boromir and Legolas in unison.

Mordor. This wasn't headed in a good direction.

"You are mistaken, Master Gimli," Boromir said, chuckling once more. "Eda is clearly human."

"I must concede with Boromir," Legolas added. "She is no elleth, but she's hardly ugly enough to be a Dwarf."

Gandalf chuckled quietly, but didn't say anything.

"Not all Dwarf women can grow beards," Gimli said, rolling his eyes. "Besides. How can ye justify her height if she isn't a Dwarf?"

Boromir crossed his arms, leaning against the door he was guarding. "Not all humans are tall," he replied matter-of-factly. "In fact, I've met a number of people Eda's height. A couple of them men. It's not uncommon."

Gimli scoffed. "Oh, come now. Did ye not see Eda's head butt, before she'd yet joined the fellowship? No human could make such a performance without knocking themselves out cold."

Boromir hesitated.

Gimli pressed his advantage. "Her skull must be very thick. And her bone structure is magnificent, indeed! Not as hardy as most Dwarves', I'll grant you, but grand nonetheless."

"If you know so much about her," Boromir said smugly, "then tell me: where does she hail from?"

I flinched.

Aragorn met my gaze, a mildly amused smile on his face, but also sadness. He knew about my little habit with lies. He also knew the truth. Which put me in a very awkward position.

"From these very halls!" Gimli exclaimed. Then, slowly, he turned to me. "Why did ye say nothing of Moria's condition? Why did ye not turn us away while ye had the chance?"

All eyes turned to me. Gandalf raised a silver eyebrow at this new fabrication.

I swallowed hard. "Gimli—I lied. I've never been here in my life."

Gimli jumped to his feet, though it improved his height only a little. "But ye are a Dwarf, are ye not?"

I looked away.

Legolas leaned forward to study me across Aragorn. "Where are you from, Eda?"

"Dale," I replied almost automatically. But my mind was stuck on one thing. Legolas had said my name. And it sounded almost perfect—but something was wrong. Something I couldn't put my finger on.

"I'm afraid that's as close to the truth as she'll willingly give you," Gandalf said, an amused smile playing on his lips.

I shot him a pleading look.

"'Tis true," Aragorn said. "That has long been her escape from questioning."

"What is this?" Legolas demanded. "A secret society of people who know the truth about Eda?"

"It would seem," Aragorn replied.

Legolas turned to me. "Would you care to enlighten us all?"

I ducked my head, letting my hair fall over my ears and hiding my face. Mordor, this was embarrassing.

"Examine her ears," Aragorn suggested.

A pause. Then, "They are round, as any mortals'." Legolas's voice was confused. "I would have noticed had they not been."

"No," Aragorn said. "You must be thorough." He stood, motioning for Legolas to take his place at my side.

Legolas reluctantly obliged, scooting to close the distance between us. I was keenly aware of the others' gazes as Legolas pulled my hair back. Something in my stomach started squirming around. Legolas was touching my hair. Then his finger was running over the edge of my ear. When his fingertip brushed the tender curl, my ear involuntarily twitched.

"It's tipped!" Legolas exclaimed. "But...only barely." He looked to Gandalf. "So she is half-Elven, like Lord Elrond."

"Not quite," Gandalf said with a chuckle. "She is also half-Dwarvish."

"Hah!" Gimli exclaimed, raising his pipe in celebration. "I knew it."

"You knew nothi—" Legolas froze mid-sentence. Slowly, he turned to Gandalf. "No." He shook his head. "Tell me, Mithrandir. Tell me it wasn't Tauriel."

Gandalf watched him quietly, his expression sympathetic.

Legolas buried his face in his hands. Then he drew his fingers through his hair, clutching fistfuls in his frustration. "She was _pure_!" he cried.

"She was in love," Gandalf replied calmly. "Would you have her deny the love granted by the Valar?"

A long silence. Then, "I do not understand why the Valar would grant such a fated love," Legolas said, his tone defeated. "I do not understand anything anymore."

My heart throbbed for him. I reached to place my hand on his arm, but he recoiled, his expression disgusted. I flinched, expecting him to hit me.

Regret sparked in Legolas's expression, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. His gaze was so deep, so blue, and _so_ full of pain. And I was utterly powerless to help him.

He blinked, but I didn't miss the tears welling up in his eyes. Then Legolas stood and walked to Boromir. "I will keep guard," he said, his voice thick.

Boromir nodded slowly and left Legolas to keep watch. The Man flashed me a sympathetic smile, then lay down on the stone floor and began to snore quietly.

I curled up also, but only pretended to sleep. Instead, I listened to the sound of my tears hitting the floor.

We left the dining room some time later—I don't know how long. And if I'd thought Legolas was giving me the cold shoulder before, the barrier between us now was practically a tangible thing. Legolas didn't even acknowledge my existence, and after a few hours of this humiliating treatment, I returned the favor. I walked at the front of the company with Gandalf, and Legolas brought up the rear with Aragorn. Thus passed the next day, to the best of our estimation. Time was difficult to measure underground.

When at last we stopped to rest, the lack of air circulation didn't allow us to build a fire. So we all made our nests on the cold floor. Gandalf wrapped his robes tightly around himself, and the Hobbits snuggled together for communal warmth.

I turned to Aragorn, pretending Legolas wasn't standing at his side, pretending I didn't exist. "Aragorn?"

"I'll take first watch," Legolas muttered, then walked away.

Aragorn exhaled sharply and said, "Why, exactly, are you two mad at each other?"

I gritted my teeth and glared at him.

He shrugged as if to say _whatever_. "What did you want to say a moment ago?"

I crossed my arms, almost afraid—or too proud—to ask. But I forced myself to just spit it out. "It's cold. Can I sleep next to you?"

Aragorn hesitated. "If you behave," he answered finally. "And no comments about Arwen," he added as an afterthought.

"Okay," I agreed.

Aragorn set his pack down for a pillow and laid down. I flopped down beside him and rested my head on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around myself. It really _was_ cold, this far from any sunlight, and one thing that hadn't been packed in my satchel was a blanket. Unfortunately.

Aragorn wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I snuggled into his side. But, though it was warm, it wasn't comfortable. I didn't know why, exactly. But I couldn't stop my gaze from wandering to the lone ellon standing guard, or prevent my thoughts from wondering what it would be like if _he_ were the one keeping me warm.

 _But you'll never know_ , said an awful, sniveling voice at the back of my mind. Also known as common sense.

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing sleep would just hurry up and let me escape.

I awoke to Aragorn gently shaking my shoulder. "Hey," he murmured. "It's time to go."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "Mmmmph. 'Kay."

We about to move out when Gandalf approached me. "Eda. I need you at the back of the company today."

"But, Gandalf—"

He shook his head. "I am very concerned for the Hobbits, particularly Samwise and Frodo. I want you to keep an eye on them specially." When I hesitated, he laid a hand on my shoulder. "Please, do this for me."

I nodded reluctantly. The last thing I wanted was to walk with Aragorn and Legolas—but I could hardly tell Gandalf no.

He gave me a kind smile. "That's a good girl. Now take heart. We're about halfway through Moria, and it would seem luck is with us."

I smiled back. Halfway through—that was doable.

Gandalf patted my shoulder, then called softly, "Aragorn, may I speak with you?"

Aragorn came to Gandalf, and the two of them moved to the front of the company. Leaving me alone with Legolas. I groaned internally. Great. Just...great.

We walked in silence for hours. I kept myself busy, watching the Hobbits, watching my footing, and watching my back. This was not my favorite position in the company, not only because of Legolas, but also because there was a very real danger of something sneaking up behind us and attacking.

We reached an end to the maze of corridors and came to another mining shaft. The bridge leading through stretched on and on, until I was sure we'd been on it for miles. I couldn't see the bottom below—it could've been ten feet or a thousand. I caught myself gazing into the void as we walked, fascinated by its mystery.

Then Legolas grabbed my arms.

I gasped. Why had he—? Then I looked down and blushed. There was a large hole in the bridge, and I was about to walk right in it.

I reluctantly met Legolas's gaze. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were cold and uncaring.

I wrenched free of his touch. "I don't know why you bother," I hissed, glaring up at him. We continued walking, and this time I watched where I put my feet.

"Perhaps because you are one of the company," Legolas replied in a toneless murmur.

"Or perhaps because Gandalf would have your head if you didn't," I retorted.

Legolas gave a humorless snort.

I waited for him to say something. Anything. Finally, I muttered, "I suppose you want me to apologize."

"For what, precisely?"

"You tell me," I snapped, shooting him a glare. "Maybe for being born. Would that be a good start?"

Legolas met my gaze, and in his eyes was nothing but pain and a festering bitterness. "I do not hold you responsible for your parents' actions."

I broke our eye contact, swallowing.

Legolas gave a defeated sigh. "The old texts show that love is sacred. And not only love, but life as well." He looked at me; I could feel his gaze, but I didn't look back. "Even orcs and Dwarf scum have their place in the world."

"And I suppose I fit into one of those categories?" I snapped, whirling to glare at him. "Orcs, or Dwarf scum?" I spat at his feet, which he didn't even move to avoid. "I'll do you a favor," I growled. "I'll pretend you don't have _hit me_ written across your forehead."

Legolas scoffed.

And thus we fell back into our routine of pretending the other didn't exist.

After a long time, we reached the end of the bridge and entered another corridor. This corridor opened up to a small room with three other doorways. Gandalf stopped and looked between the different entrances. "I have no memory of this place..."

We stood in silence while he considered the options. At length, Samwise muttered, "Well, there's a proper air shaft this time. I could build a fire." When no one objected, he pulled some sticks and twigs from his pack. Frodo raised an eyebrow, and Samwise mutter, "I try to be prepared, is all."

Within a few minutes, a tiny flame was dancing around between a few of the twigs, providing a touch of warmth. Samwise, the rascals, and I huddled around, soaking in the precious heat, while the others made themselves comfortable closer or farther away.

"Merry?" asked one of the Hobbit rascals, Pippin.

"What?" replied the other.

"Are we lost?"

"No."

"I think we are," said Pippin matter-of-factly.

"Shh!" hissed the other, Merry. "Gandalf's thinking."

A moment of silence. Then: "Merry?"

Merry glared at his companion. "What?!"

Pippin gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence. "I'm hungry."

I smothered a giggle. The rascals _were_ good for laughs, if nothing else.

"Eda," Aragorn said from behind me.

I turned around. He was seated on the ground, smoking his pipe, and Legolas crouched beside him. I focused my attention on Aragorn. "Yes?"

"Legolas would like to know how you learned Sindarin."

I scowled at the fire. "I know several languages. But I spent a few years in Rivendell, so I'm fluent."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Did you catch that, Legolas, or should I repeat it?"

Legolas didn't answer, but I could imagine his glare. "Ask her what other languages she knows," he muttered.

"Eda," Aragorn said bemusedly, "Legolas would like to know what other languages you speak."

"Tell him he can ask me himself or mind his own damn business."

"Eda." Aragorn's tone was reproving. "That is not befitting conversation."

I rolled my eyes but didn't answer.

"Ask her if I may examine her dagger," Legolas said.

My eyes widened, and I involuntarily touched my sleeve. I hadn't once removed it, so how had he known it was there?

"May Legolas look at your knife?" Aragorn asked. When I hesitated, he added in a tease, "I'll make sure he gives it back."

I gritted my teeth.

"Please?" Legolas's soft tone, right beside me, caught me off guard.

I flinched and glanced at him. He had been so quiet, I hadn't heard him seat himself right beside me. Though his eyes were still full of bitterness, they weren't so condescending.

Reluctantly, I pulled my knife out and handed it to him. "Don't cut yourself, princess."

His lithe fingers handled the blade with care, examining every detail. One tapered forefinger trailed over the runes stamped into the metal. "Dwarvish," he said simply.

There were a number of remarks I wanted to make, but instead, I just said, "It was my uncle's."

"Yes..." Legolas mused. "The walking arsenal. I remember him." He nodded at the knife. "And I remember this. He carried it beneath his collar, behind his head."

Legolas remembered my uncle. He would remember my father too, as well as my great-uncle. Not to mention my mother. I swallowed. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, so many stories I wanted him to tell. But I knew, looking through his eyes and into his tortured soul, that he would never tell me. Not willingly.

Suddenly, a distressed expression crossed Frodo's face, and he trotted over to where Gandalf was sitting. "There's something down there!"

"It's Gollum," Gandalf replied calmly. "He's been following us for three days."

Frodo cast a fearful glance over his shoulder. "He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dur?"

"Escaped...or was set loose," said Gandalf, meeting Frodo's gaze. "He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself. He will never be rid of his need for it."

The Ring. A chill washed over my skin.

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said in a disgusted tone.

"Pity?" Gandalf shot Frodo a sharp glance. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand."

Frodo didn't respond.

"Many that live, deserve death," Gandalf said quietly. "And some that die, deserve life. Can _you_ give it to them, Frodo?"

I swallowed. _I_ deserved death. _I_ , the daughter of a rebellious elleth and a thoughtless, lovestruck Dwarf prince. _I_ , who caused Legolas such pain.

"Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment," Gandalf continued. "Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that each of us have some part to play, for good or for ill. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting my gaze. "And the pity of Elrond may rule the fate of many more."

I shivered and looked away, accidentally glancing at Legolas. Eru blast it all, he'd seen _everything._

Elves could be _such_ a pain.

A slender hand reached out and gently took my wrist, turning my hand palm-up. Legolas cradled my hand in his own while carefully slipping the knife back up my sleeve. His deep, icy-blue eyes encased me in their stare. And suddenly I didn't feel cold at all. I felt...warm.

I wrenched my gaze free and closed my eyes, gritting my teeth. Tears poked at my eyelids. I wished my mother _hadn't_ been Tauriel. I wished I could've been Granny Dìs's actual daughter, or somebody _other_ than who I was.

"So do all who live to see such times," came Gandalf's gentle, comforting voice. "But that is not for us to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

A tear squeezed out, slipping down my cheek and off my jaw.

"There are other forces at work in the world, Frodo, than the will of evil. Bilbo was _meant_ to find the Ring. In which case you were _meant_ to have it. And that is an encouraging thought." There was a smile in Gandalf's voice in the last sentence.

The forces of good. If they _were_ at work, I certainly couldn't see them. My life was nothing but shame and guilt and heartache. Would it not have been better to submit to the wisdom of authority? Had I made the wrong choice, disregarding Elrond's warnings and leaving Rivendell?

"Eda."

I opened my eyes. Legolas knelt beside me, his blue eyes concerned. His callused fingertips gently brushed away my tears.

"Who you were born is not your fault," he whispered. "Only who you've become."

I swallowed back my emotion, suddenly realizing I had tears streaming down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I turned away and roughly scrubbed away the moisture. I was highly grateful when Gandalf let out a quiet exclamation.

"Ah! It's that way."

"He's remembered," Merry said with a grin, standing and putting out the fire.

"No," Gandalf said, his tone happy. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

Pippin rolled his eyes. "Well, _that's_ obvious. And I'm in no doubt. My nose leads directly to your satchel, Sam."

Samwise looked over his shoulder and scowled. "You keep your grubby 'ands out of my pack, you 'ear? This 'ere food's for Mister Frodo 'n me."

The rascals exchanged mischievous grins, and in unison, they said, "Aye, we hear you."


	19. Eye-Openers

This time, bringing up the rear of the company with Legolas wasn't nearly so bad. In fact, it was almost pleasant. We made small talk here and there in short bursts, and the silence in between was comfortable.

After nearly a full day's walking through the limited scenery that Moria provided, we were walking through a long, narrow corridor, and he suddenly said, "Where are you truly from, Eda?"

I swallowed, uncomfortable with telling the truth. But I was so tired of lying. So, finally, I answered honestly.

"To say Dale isn't entirely a lie. I spent most of my waking hours there, in the streets and markets. But I was born in Erebor, and that was where my home was."

Legolas's gaze cut through the darkness, meeting my gaze. "But not anymore?"

I looked away. "Expectations were too high. _Are_ too high. My only home now is the trail I'm blazing."

A pause, then, "I understand. My father has set very high standards for me—standards impossible to obtain. Standards even _he_ cannot bare to uphold." Bitterness saturated Legolas's tone more with each passing word, until he practically spat the last sentence.

I lifted my hand to comfort him, then hesitated. What if he did not accept my consolation? Well, then, we would be back to square one. And I'd pretty much set up headquarters at square one, and found I could handle it pretty well. So I pushed aside my reservations and laid my hand on Legolas's arm. The only words that came to mind were stupid and not particularly helpful, so I stayed silent.

I left my hand there for a long moment, finally letting it drop when it seemed awkward to touch him for any longer. I had pretty much resigned myself to pretending Legolas didn't exist for another several days, but then he caught my hand in his own. "You are an only child, I presume?" he asked quietly, intertwining his fingers with my own.

My stomach erupted with something giggly and fluttery. A side of me with which I was not well acquainted. "I...erm...no. Wait, I mean...I don't have any siblings." I could practically _hear_ Legolas smirking. I bit my lip against a grin of my own. I was acting utterly ridiculous. And, I didn't care. "What about you?" I asked.

There was a long hesitation, and any humor in the situation was long forgotten when Legolas answered. "I have one," he said finally. "A sister." He hesitated again, then added, "Her name is Lachiel. She just came of age a few years ago."

"What's she like?" I urged, sensing Legolas was about to close the topic.

"She is...very affectionate. She loves Father and me deeply and openly, and is very kind to the servants." Legolas paused, and in the low light, his hesitation to reveal more was clear. "Perhaps, someday, you will meet her," he said, his conclusion decisive.

I didn't press him further—merely relished the warm feel of my hand in his. At length, Legolas stopped walking, urging me to stop as well. "Eda?" There was something undeniable in his tone, something... _vulnerable_.

My pulse quickened, and I whispered, "Yes?"

He pulled me around to face him, and his eyes glinted blue in the low light. "Forgive me, Eda. Had I known that...that Tauriel—" Legolas winced and looked away. Took a deep breath, then continued. "That Tauriel was with child—" He met my gaze. There was pain swimming in his eyes, grief too deep for me to understand. "I would have found you," he whispered. "I would have cared for you, raised you."

Mordor. Now _I_ was about to cry. "Legolas," I whispered, placing my hand on his muscular chest. His heartbeat was strong beneath my touch. "I do not blame you. For anything."

Brow furrowed in anguish, Legolas closed his eyes and leaned down, resting his forehead on mine. His breath washed over my face as he whispered, "I should have known."

He was so close. So close I could feel our breaths synchronize. If I just brought my lips up to his...

"Look!" exclaimed Merry.

Legolas and I sprung apart. But the troublesome Hobbit was pointing in the opposite direction. He wasn't even looking at us.

"Is that the door outside?" he asked.

"No," Gandalf replied. "This is the Great Realm and Dwarf City of Dwarrowdelf. Let me risk a little more light. ..."

Legolas and I hurried to catch up with the rest of the company. We had reached the end of the corridor, and entered a massive hall lined with elaborate chiseled pillars.

Samwise drew in a slow gasp. "Well there's an eye-opener, and no mistake."

We began walking through the room. It was enormous, and after the door behind us disappeared, it began to feel as though we were in place—save the countless pillars we passed.

Then Gandalf's staff illuminated something up ahead. A Dwarvish skeleton. And another, and another.

Gimli gave a wordless exclamation and sprinted forward.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called. When Gimli didn't respond, Gandalf led the company charging after the Dwarf.

We came to a secure room situated just off the mass of Dwarrowdelf. Inside, Gimli was kneeling before a large stone tomb and grieving loudly.

The room was a smelly mess. There were a handful of bodies, all in positions of rest. There were no bloodstains on the floor, and one even had a book in its bony lap, so these Dwarves hadn't fallen in battle. Discarded axes littered the floor, and yellowing sheets of paper were scattered across the back of the room.

Gandalf gingerly moved between the bodies and went to the tomb. "'Here lies Balin,'" he read, "'son of Fundin, lord of Moria.'" Gandalf sighed. "He is dead, then." Gandalf removed his hat. "It is as I feared."

Gimli gave another wail and rested his forehead against the stone.

Aragorn sighed and whispered to Legolas, "As little as I like the idea myself, perhaps we should rest here. It's been a long day's journey, and we'll not find a safer place."

Legolas shook his head. "We cannot linger. This place is foul, and has already been breached."

Gandalf handed his hat and staff to Pippin, then turned to the skeleton holding the book. Very carefully, he pushed its bony hand off the cover and lifted the record, then blew off a thick layer of dust. The brittle pages crackled as Gandalf opened the book and began to read.

"'They have taken the bridge, and the second hall.'" I closed my eyes, imagining a Dwarf, weak with hunger, recording his company's heartless fate. "'We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums...drums in the deep.'"

Gandalf turned the page, its noise echoing in the silent room. "'We cannot get out," he continued. "'A shadow moves in the dark.'" Chills ran down my spine, and I suddenly felt cornered. "'We cannot get out.'" Gandalf looked up, a sober expression on his face as he whispered the last sentence. "'They are coming.'"

A squeak drew everyone's attention to Pippin. He guiltily jumped away from an armored skeleton sitting on the edge of a well. Its helmeted head rolled back into the well, clattering against the sides as it fell.

Then the rest of the body followed.

And the bucket.

And the chain. 

Pippin winced as it echoed repeatedly through the cavernous expanse of Moria.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf exclaimed, snapping the book shut. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your _stupidity_!" He snatched away his hat and staff, giving Pippin a disgusted glare.

A drum beat echoed through Moria. Then another, and another—then a pattern began.

Boromir turned and ran to the door, looking out. Two arrows struck the wood inches from his face, and he recoiled.

"Get back," Aragorn said to the Hobbits. He glanced at me. "You, too. Stay close to Gandalf." Then he joined Boromir. Together, they managed to pull the rotting doors closed.

A massive roar echoed out.

In a disgustedly-amused tone, Boromir said, "They have a cave troll."

Legolas trotted around the room, snatching up fallen axes and tossing them to Aragorn, who used them to bar the doors shut.

Gandalf drew his sword, and I followed suit, as did Frodo, Samwise, and Merry. But Pippin shuffled to the back of our little group, not carrying any weapons.

"Pippin," I said, wide-eyed. "Where's your sword?"

"I...I left it behind a ways back. I forgot about it, and when I remembered...I didn't want to cause any trouble." Shame washed over his expression, and dropping his gaze to the floor, he said, "I'm such a fool."

"Pippin." I leaned down a little, evening our heights. "Keep your chin up," I whispered. Then I handed him one of my swords. "Here, use this. It's a bit longer than the one you had before, but I daresay easier to wield."

He hesitantly took my sword, as though afraid it might shatter if he touched it. Then, with tears in his eyes, he met my gaze. "Thank you, ma'am."

I straightened and gave his hair a light ruffle. "Don't mention it. This is what a team does."

High-pitched squealing drew my attention to the doors. I left the protective circle of Hobbits and strode to the front line. Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir were waiting, weapons at the ready. A little ways behind, Gimli stood on the tomb, his axe raised menacingly.

Something impacted the doors, and I flinched. Goblin squeals filled the room, and grimy hands grasped at the gaps in the rotting wood. I shuddered. Orcs were bad enough...but goblins were just nasty.

Legolas loosed an arrow, and it found its mark through a small opening in the wood. Aragorn shot an arrow his own, finding a target through the same gap.

Then the doors burst open.

Goblins flooded into the room. Legolas and Aragorn fired into the crowd, thinning the creatures' numbers. A moment later, Boromir leaped into the fray with his broadsword. Then Aragorn tossed aside his bow and drew his own blade.

I felt rather useless, standing in the middle of a battle with everyone else killing all the goblins before they could get to me.

Finally, a goblin slipped past Legolas's arrows and made for the Hobbits. Gandalf would take care of it, but Mordor, I was _bored_. So I ran after it.

The thing whirled and hissed at me. _Eew._ Its teeth were long and sharpened, and its eyes were like that of a snake. I took my sword in both hands and swung at its neck. The head came off a little too easily. I shuddered and looked for the next target.

"Eda!" came Gandalf's call.

I turned. He was busy holding off a couple of goblins, but several more had gotten past Boromir and were headed for the Hobbits.

I ran over and began swinging wildly, chopping off limbs and heads and whatever got in the way. Merry joined me, but his swings were hesitant. I blocked an attack for him, quickly ending that goblin's life.

"Don't doubt yourself!" I called, engaging the next goblin. "Trust your instincts and _never_ hesitate."

Gandalf, who had finished off the goblins he'd been engaging, nodded to me. "Thank you."

I nodded back, then trotted across the room to find Boromir. He had been cornered by a number of goblins. He was fighting them off well, but others were getting into the room and staying alive. I tore into Boromir's attackers from behind, swinging frantically. Finally, Boromir was able to come out of his corner and help stem the flow of goblins at the front.

The ground rumbled, and outside, something bellowed a roar. Then a cave troll burst in. Its beady eyes landed on the person it was closest to.

Samwise.

The troll raised its club high above its head. Samwise backpedaled. Stumbled. Fell.

I ran. Grabbed Sam and jumped out of the way. The club struck into the floor, crumbling stone.

I stood and turned to face the troll. I would have to get in close to use my sword. And I wouldn't be able to attack anything much higher than its knees. But it had to be done. Everyone else was battling goblins.

I sprinted at the troll. It raised its club, ready to swing. Eyes widening, I jumped back. But not quickly enough. The club caught me square in the side.

I flew across the room and slammed into stone. Pain raged across my body, and I stared at the ceiling. My vision grew hazy around the edges. And when the darkness came, I welcomed it.

 **Legolas's POV**

That reckless, brave, _stupid_ girl hesitated just long enough for the troll to club her in the side. The force picked Eda up and sent her flying across the room, hitting a pillar on the second level with a sickening _crunch_. And Tauriel's only child slumped to the floor, motionless.

With a desperate battle yell, Gimli hurled his axe at the monster. The axehead lodged in the troll's shoulder. Enraged, the troll swung its club. It smashed into the tomb, knocking the Dwarf onto his back.

I fired a double at the troll, and the foul creature staggered back. Then I grabbed Gimli's collar and hauled him to his feet. Mordor, those troublesome Dwarves were _heavy!_

A goblin ran up the stairs to the second level, where Eda was. I drew an arrow and put an end to his course.

The troll found another target and lumbered away. The disgusting creature had to be killed, but I had to get to Eda. There was a chance— _a_ chance—that she was still alive. After ensuring there were no goblins nearby, I ran to one of the pillars and took two steps up, letting my momentum drive me upward. Then I grabbed the edge of the second level and swung myself up.

Eda lay exactly how she'd fallen—on her back, one arm up by her head and the other flung out.

Grief threatened to overtake me, but I forced it back. I glanced around for goblins, but the second level was deserted, save Eda and me. I knelt beside her and pressed my fingers to her throat. A strong, steady heartbeat rewarded my efforts. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Eda was alive.

"Frodo!" Aragorn yelled.

I looked up. The troll had Frodo cornered at the opposite end of the room. Aragorn charged in with a spear, poking the troll's chest, but not penetrating the skin. The troll snatched the spear away, then backhanded Aragorn, knocking him away. He grunted, slowly pulling himself up again.

The troll turned to Frodo, and drove the spear into the halfling's stomach.

"Frodo! _Frodo!_ " Samwise cried.

I stood. Our ringbearer had just been killed. I set an arrow to my bowstring and let it fly into the troll's neck. But it only went in a little. Only enraged the beast further.

The troll turned. It bared its ugly teeth at me and snatched up a discarded chain. Then it sent the end whipping toward my head.

I ducked just in time. The troll snarled and tried again, aiming lower. I threw myself out of the way, feeling the wind stir over my neck. Then I jumped up. The next attempt was a swing, and I ran behind one of the columns— _not_ the one Eda lay beside. The chain wrapped around the base, and I stepped on the end, securing it. Then, calculating my course of action, I ran down the length of chain and onto the troll's shoulders.

As the creature flailed around, trying to get me off, I set two arrows to my bowstring and aimed down into the neck. They penetrated deep, but didn't sever the spine. I didn't get a second attempt; the troll reached for me with his massive hand, and I had to jump down.

I trotted around to its front, readying another arrow. I drew it back, waiting for the right moment...then released it into the troll's open mouth.

The troll staggered, then finally fell. The room was silent, save the heavy breaths of the mortals.

Aragorn crawled to where Frodo lay and pulled him onto his back. "No, Frodo," he whispered. The halfling Samwise slowly walked toward Frodo, his eyes filling with tears.

Frodo gasped, then let out a soft groan. "I'm okay," he said, "I'm not hurt."

I left the rest of the Fellowship to gather around the ringbearer, and trotted up the narrow staircase to the second level. Eda was exactly where I'd left her, still unconscious. After slinging my bow over my shoulder, I gathered her up in my arms.

Mordor, she was heavier than she looked! While she wasn't as heavy as an ordinary Dwarf, she was built more solidly than even her broad bones suggested. Blood dripped from her sleeve, the sleeve where she kept her knife. It must've cut her when she slammed into the pillar.

I winced at the memory and examined her head. There was a bruise forming on the right side of her face, but her skull was intact, and she was alive. It was, in this case, fortunate that she was half-Dwarf. Anything less would've been immediately killed by such a blow.

I carried Eda down the stairs. Frodo was sitting up, revealing a Mithril vest under his shirt. So that's how he survived. I was glad, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I laid Eda on the floor, then began riffling through her pack. When I came up with a roll of bandages, I pulled it out.

After removing Eda's bloodstained knife from her sleeve and tossing it into her pack, I quickly wrapped her forearm in the bandage, not bothering to move her sleeve. We didn't have long before more goblins came, so I had to work quickly. I used the entire bandage, though probably unnecessary, and tied it off.

A goblin's wail traveled through the dark, and Mithrandir said, "To the Bridge at Khazad-Dum!"

I pulled Eda up into my arms once more, and we left the room. Once out, we broke into a run, heading for the east end of Dwarrowdelf. Eda began to stir in my arms, her face burrowing into my shoulder. Then her eyes opened, and she blinked.

"What happened?" she mumbled, putting her arms around my neck.

"Shh," I replied. The last thing we needed was to _attract_ the goblins to ourselves.

But it was too late. There were hoards of goblins chasing after us, a mere twenty yards behind. And more were coming down from the ceiling, up from the cracks in the floor. The room was filled with their screeching and yelling and scrabbling claws. Then they came at us from ahead.

We were surrounded.

I dropped Eda onto her feet and whipped my bow and an arrow out. Eda swayed, and her hand grabbed the side of my tunic. I felt her move behind me, then her forehead rested on my back.

Somehow, it seemed fitting that I would die fighting to protect Tauriel's daughter.

Then a deeper, fouler growl echoed through Dwarrowdelf. The goblins scattered, and Gimli began to laugh. Pigheaded fool of a Dwarf. I gently let the bowstring rest, turning to face the newer, greater enemy. A mysterious orange glow engulfed the back part of Dwarrowdelf. Aragorn eyed it distrustfully, but Mithrandir's expression was one of resignation.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered.

"A balrog," Mithrandir replied soberly.

"Of Morgoth," I added. Then I frowned. I hadn't meant to speak.

"What did you say?" Eda whispered hoarsely.

The words tumbled out of my mouth without my permission. "They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"

The halflings eyed me curiously.

Mithrandir shook his head, scowling. "We haven't the time for this foolishness! Run!"

I pushed my bow back onto my shoulder and pulled Eda into my arms. She gave a sharp inhale, wincing, but didn't resist. Instead, she put her arms around my neck and nestled her head into my shoulder.

The Fellowship finally reached the end of Dwarrowdelf. Mithrandir stopped and motioned for us to go ahead of him. Boromir went through the doorway first, then Eda and I right behind him. Suddenly Boromir stopped, teetering on the edge of a lava-filled chasm. I dropped Eda's legs to grab the back of his tunic and yank him back.

Eda gave a sharp cry, and her fingers clutched at my shoulders.

Boromir took a deep breath and exhaled, then turned to follow the staircase to the right.

"Where are you hurt?" I asked quietly, pulling Eda back up and following Boromir.

"I—" She winced. "My ribs. I th-think they're broken."

"Probably." I carefully descended the tricky staircase. One wrong step could send us hurtling off the staircase and into the lava bed below. The narrow staircase turned frequently at 90-degree angles, constantly descending, and eventually we left the lava chasm behind.

We had almost reached the end of this series of stairs when we reached a gaping hole in the stone work. We would have to jump across one at a time. And quickly. The balrog was fast approaching.

I caught Boromir's glance and motioned for him to go first. He took a halfling under each arm and jumped, crossing the gap with no difficulty. I turned to Mithrandir. "Go."

The wizard made the leap, and Boromir caught his arm, pulling him away from the edge.

"Aragorn," I said.

He touched my shoulder. "You should go."

I shook my head. "No. Take Frodo and Samwise with you."

Aragorn met my gaze for a brief moment, then nodded. As Boromir had, he took the two halflings under his arms and made the jump. As he landed safely, the stairs began to vibrate under my feet.

I backpedaled. "Back up," I hissed at the Dwarf. He scowled, but complied. And just in time. A large section of the stone bricks fell from our side of the staircase. It wasn't an easy distance to jump, and it would be impossible for Gimli. He would have to be thrown.

I gently set Eda down and turned to Gimli. He held up a hand. "Nobody. Tosses. A Dwarf."

I derived great pleasure in looking down at him, and even more in making him look up at me. "Fortunately for Your Shortness, I do." And with that, I grabbed his collar and his belt and hurled him across the distance. His feet reached the edge, but his center of balance did not. He began to fall.

Aragorn caught the Dwarf by his scruffy beard. "Not the beard!" Gimli bellowed, but Aragorn ignored him and yanked him up to safety.

Another rumble. I grabbed Eda and climbed back up the staircase as more sections began to crumble and fall. Until finally, Eda and I were separated from the rest of the Fellowship by an impossible distance.

Then a boulder fell from the ceiling, smashing into the staircase behind us. We were trapped on an island of Dwarvish stairs.

Worse—our island began to fall.

"Lean forward!" Aragorn called, reaching out as though he could help.

I spaced my feet apart, trying to balance my weight _and_ Eda's. But the island was beginning to fall sideways, and my own center of balance was shifting.

A crude arrow grazed my calf. Startled, I dropped Eda. She fell onto the stairs and screamed. Began to roll. Slipped over the edge.

I dove, catching her wrist. Eda was hanging down the side of the staircase island, looking up at me. Her wide eyes looked up at me fearfully.

"I've got you!" I gasped. But she was heavy. And I was beginning to fall, too.

"Legolas." Her voice shook, and tears pooled in her eyes. "Save yourself. Let me go."

"No!" I pulled on her harder. But again, my body slipped closer to the edge.

Eda's lips moved, but no sound came out. _Legolas..._

Her weight lightened, and she came up easily. Or did I go down? Then I realized. The island. It was falling. And we were beyond saving.

I pulled Eda into my arms, holding her tightly against my chest as we fell.

"No, Legolas." Her voice was a ghost of a whisper. "It's my turn now." And with that, she twisted us around so that _she_ would break _my_ fall.


	20. Survival

Pain.

My eyes twitched, then opened. I was surrounded by nothing but darkness. I blinked, then moved to sit up.

Agonizing pain shot through my entire body. I let out a sharp gasp, and the sound echoed wildly.

Where _was_ I?

And what was the warm, heavy thing draped across my chest?

I tried to touch it, but my right shoulder flared with pain. Gritting my teeth, I used my left arm to feel the thing partially covering me. My fingertips brushed a sturdy fabric, then a layer of long, silky hair.

Legolas.

The memories flooded back in a rush. The troll attack, Legolas carrying me. The balrog, the staircase. The fall.

I shuddered. How was I still alive? And more importantly...was Legolas?

I used my left hand to push myself into a sitting position. My right shoulder throbbed sharply, and my ribs burned like Mordor, but I refused to utter a sound. If the goblins found us here...well, we'd be in a real heap of orc feces.

Legolas slumped into my lap. I laid my hand on him, my fingers touching his side. I felt my way up to his throat, then held my breath as I felt for a pulse. There—it was erratic, but his heart was still beating.

Thank Illùvatar.

I bit my lip, trying not to fall apart with relief. If Legolas had left me alone in this wretched pit...I didn't know what I'd have done.

Something hard pressed into my hip uncomfortably. I reached down to move it, and my fingers scraped loose gravel by my leg. Frowning, I burrowed my hand farther into the loose pebbles. The gravel was quite deep—a feasible reason we'd survived the fall. Eru, I was sore, though.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the source of my discomfort. The compass. It was smooth and warm, and glowed in my fingers, especially the star. I blinked rapidly, my eyes burning from the sudden light. Then, as my eyes adjusted, I turned the Foragar to shine on Legolas.

His face was pale and sweaty, and a shallow cut across his cheek oozed blood. His sleeves were torn, and Legolas's hands were badly bruised and bloodied. Thankfully, there were no visible injuries near his vitals. I pointed the compass light down his legs, then quickly looked away, swallowing back bile. Then, reluctantly, I forced myself to face the repulsive scene.

The jagged end of a bone protruded from the middle of Legolas's left shin. Blood trickled over his calf and onto the gravel.

I pressed the compass into my chest, smothering its light. Then I closed my eyes—though it made no difference. The urge to curl up beside Legolas and wait for him to wake up was overwhelming, but his leg had to be set. So, reluctantly, I pocketed the Foragar and pushed him off my lap, then crawled single-handedly to his legs.

I carefully took his left boot in my hands and squeezed his ankle. Inhaling deeply, I began to pull. Legolas moaned and shifted. The strain on my shoulder was agony.

I gingerly touched his calf, flinching when my fingers touched the bone. I would have to pull harder for it to go back in place.

So I did. Legolas cried out, and the sound echoed wildly. My shoulder screamed with pain. I finally let myself stop and shine the Foragar on Legolas's leg. The bone was set. Now I needed to bandage it.

I stuck the Foragar in my mouth and pulled my satchel off, then opened it up. Moisture filled the bottom, and my heart sank. My canteen had burst. My knife lay beside it, no doubt a significant part of the reason we were now essentially without water. I gave a quiet sigh. At least I still _had_ my knife. But—where were the bandages?

I caught a glimpse of my arm, which was wrapped tightly in precisely what I was looking for. The other one was still around Legolas's torso from our _other_ incident. Tears blurred my vision. Why did I have to keep getting Legolas hurt? The stupid ellon should have let me go and jumped to safety while he had the chance.

But now wasn't the time to wallow. I quickly unwrapped the bandage from my arm, wincing as my sleeve below shifted, breaking the scab that had started to form. Once the length of fabric was free, I began to wrap it tightly around Legolas's broken leg.

Legolas's breath hitched. "Eda?" He cringed when the sound echoed.

"Shh..." I kept wrapping his leg, careful not to jostle him.

"Where are we?" he mouthed.

"Moria." I tied off the two ends. "We fell from the staircase." I crawled back to Legolas's head and tugged my satchel closer. It would be a pity to waste what little water we had, especially since we were probably both dehydrated.

I dipped my fingers in the pool of moisture and drank from my hand. Then I gathered some water in my palm and held it out to Legolas's mouth. He drank without complaint, and my stomach fluttered at the sensation of his lips on my hand.

His piercing blue eyes caught mine in the dimness. "How did we survive?"

"We landed in a pile of gravel." I didn't mention that he would've died if he hadn't fallen on top of me, as well.

Legolas slowly sat up, grimacing. He examined his battered hands, then looked down at a loose string draped across his chest. Tugging on it, he revealed the broken halves of his bow.

I swallowed hard as his expression fell. Quietly, he laid the broken weapon aside and pulled off his quiver. Only a few arrows remained in it, but with much reluctance, Legolas set it beside the bow. Then, decisively, he turned away and looked at me. "What have we in the way of weapons?"

"My knife," I responded. "I gave one of my swords to Pippin, and the other..."

"You dropped it when the troll attacked you," Legolas murmured. "I didn't think to pick it up."

So we were affectively without weapons.

"As for injuries," Legolas continued, "my leg rather hurts—but you've already bandaged it. What about you?"

I rubbed my right arm. "My shoulder is sore. But, given the situation, I won't complain."

Legolas's brow furrowed. "May I examine it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, embarrassed, but nodded. Legolas touched my upper arm, his fingertips skimming lightly over my shoulder. It protested painfully, and I winced. His sharp eyes didn't miss my reaction, and he lightly pressed various places over my shoulder and collarbone, gauging my reaction.

"It's broken," he said finally. He touched the back of my shoulder blade, and when it stung unexpectedly, I flinched. "Your back is bleeding, as well," he said. "We need to get that covered."

"We're out of bandages," I murmured.

Legolas pushed his hand under his tunic and reached around to his back. "This should be healed..." he murmured. Then he pulled the hem of his tunic up a bit to remove the bandage, presumably to put on me.

I looked away and stifled a sigh. If I'd known his back had healed, I would've taken that bandage off to wrap his leg with. But, it would seem, we were destined to share dirty bandages. Not that it was a terribly big deal. But still.

"Erm..." Legolas hesitated. "We'll need to remove your shirt."

I blushed. Mordor, this was bad. I mean, undressing in front of anyone was bad, but in front of _Legolas_...of all people...

"You _are_ wearing... _something_...underneath. Right?"

I found it mildly consoling that he found the situation uncomfortable, as well. I nodded, not meeting his gaze. "Yes, of course."

Legolas motioned for me to face away from him, then silently pulled my shirt up. He was careful to disturb my right arm as little as possible, but the process was agonizing nonetheless. I bit my lip, busying my gaze with peeling my sleeve away from my arm. The cut wasn't too bad, but it was still bleeding a bit.

"May I have the Foragar?" Legolas murmured.

I handed him the compass. Legolas pushed my hair over my uninjured shoulder, then there was a moment of silence. His cool fingertips trailed down my back, and he whispered, "Eda—who beat you?"

I tensed, then swallowed. "Focus on the matter at hand, please."

His touch withdrew, and a moment later he began wrapping the bandage around my back, just under my arms. "Very well. But answer my question."

I ground my teeth. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Somebody beat you with enough force to leave scars," Legolas growled, his voice tense. "Multiple times, from the looks of it. And you say it doesn't _matter_?"

"I was an unruly child," I mumbled. "I only got what I deserved."

"You _are_ an unruly child," Legolas replied, tugging the bandage snugly around my shoulder. "And whether you deserved it or not, there can be no justification for this kind of abuse."

I didn't answer. I didn't know _how_ to answer. I couldn't tell if Legolas was insulting me, or trying to protect me somehow. I was leaning toward the latter—in which case, I pitied the unfortunate soul about to be on the wrong end of the ellon's fury.

At length, Legolas paused his work and placed a hand on my shoulder. "At least tell me who did it."

The skin-on-skin contact made my heart jump. "I...uhh..." I swallowed, blushing hotly. Why in Mordor did he make me so uncomfortable!? "Dwalin," I answered finally.

A moment of silence. Finally, Legolas removed his hand from my shoulder and continued with his work. "And did the Dwarf scum give any reason for harming an innocent she-child?"

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until Legolas stopped touching me. I didn't understand my own reaction; was I _afraid_ of Legolas? But that hardly made sense.

"Eda?"

I blinked. "Erm...well, Granny Dìs was inclined to dote on me. So Dwalin was placed in charge of raising me properly."

"To prepare you for the throne of Erebor," Legolas mused. He quieted, and I shifted uncomfortably. At length, he added, "What happened?"

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting Legolas's gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You're here, and the Dwarf is presumably still in Erebor. Something changed."

I bit my lip and faced forward again. "I ran away," I admitted. "Something was stolen from the treasury, and Dwalin blamed me." I twisted around to face Legolas. "I didn't do it, I swear!"

Legolas looked deep into my eyes, gently placing his hand on mine. "I believe you, Eda," he said quietly. "What happened then?"

Tears rose in my eyes, and my throat closed off. The memory was still too fresh. "Dwalin got angry," I whispered. I turned away so Legolas wouldn't see my tears fall. "He'd whipped me before...but he'd never lost control like that." I rubbed my arms, trembling. "I told him that I didn't do it, but he thought I was lying."

I could feel the heat rolling of Legolas in waves. I found his anger both frightening...and comforting. "And then?" he asked, his tone seething.

"I fled to a family in Dale," I said. "The house of Bard. I was friends with his son and daughters, and they tended me. Then I convinced them to help me escape."

A pause. Then, "How long ago was this?" Legolas's voice was a bit calmer.

"Thirty-six years ago," I replied. "I was twenty-three at the time."

There was a gentle tug on the bandage, and Legolas said disgustedly, "Only orcs and Dwarf scum would do such a thing to a child." Before I could even try to respond, he grabbed my shirt and said, "Here, put this back on."

Once I was finally covered, Legolas said, "Now, to find a way out of this accursed Dwarf hole..."

Since Legolas couldn't walk, he sent me with the Foragar to look for something— _anything_ —he could use as a crutch. Not only was the Foragar a source of light, he explained, but since it pointed toward the deepest desire of my heart, it would lead me directly to what I wanted.

Theoretically.

I was able to focus my frustration, my anxiety, and my longing into a specific desire; _that_ wasn't too difficult. Problem was, every time I got about twenty feet away from Legolas, the wretched pin would swing back to point at everybody-guess-who.

Obviously, I was worried about him. I left my knife with Legolas, against his wishes, but he couldn't _move_. And we certainly weren't Moria's quietest inhabitants.

Finally, I buckled down and just walked in the direction the compass initially pointed toward, and ignored it when the pin predictably reversed. With every step I grew more worried. Even if Legolas were attacked, he wouldn't call for me. He wouldn't breathe a sound. Because that would attract hoards of goblins. But, if I stayed with him, we would never escape. So I kept walking.

At length, I came to a wall and turned to follow it. Keeping the Foragar's faint light pointed at my feet, I watched for anything other than gravel and rocks, until finally I found a doorway in the wall. If I was to find anything, I'd have to go in—but I hesitated. If it was possible, it was even _darker_ inside the narrow corridor.

I slowly entered, keeping the Forgar shining at my feet and ready to douse its light in a moment's notice. The gravel thinned, making the footing loose and hazardous.

Something small on the floor caught my eye. At first I thought it was a piece of gravel. Then I realized—it was a bone. A tiny bone—roughly the size of my thumb to the first joint. Then I found the rest of the hand.

Then the arm.

And the body.

Separate.

The Dwarf's remains were scattered out over a dozen or so feet. His armor had been rent and tossed aside, as had his weapon.

The weapon!

I picked my way through the bones to the long-handled axe lying on the floor, then picked it up. Having found what I was looking for, I skedaddled back to Legolas. I was beyond grateful to leave that corridor behind.

As I approached, I heard Legolas grunt. Then a goblin's squeal.

I broke into a run.

Three goblins were jumping on Legolas. He swung my knife with deadly speed and accuracy. By the time I had reached him, he'd already killed all three.

"Legolas!" I whispered, moving around one of the bodies and kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Well enough," he replied, grimacing. As he slid my knife under his belt, I caught a glimpse of blood on his left sleeve.

I caught his hand and held it under the Foragar's light. His sleeve had been torn, and there were distinct, bleeding teeth marks in his wrist.

"We should bandage this," I murmured.

"No," Legolas replied immediately. "We should leave Moria. Help me up."

I handed him the axe, then offered my hand to help pull him up. Slowly, and grinding his teeth audibly, Legolas stood. His face was a mask of tightly-controlled pain and sheer determination.

A long moment passed, then finally Legolas whispered, "Which way?"

"I...I don't know." Tears welled up in my eyes. Mordor, why did I have to be so royally _useless_?

"Eda," he murmured. His hand rested on my shoulder—my uninjured shoulder. I reluctantly met his gaze. His lovely blue eyes watched me, a kindness in them I wasn't expecting. "We _are_ going to escape," he said.

I sniffed and nodded, looking away. Eru, it was embarrassing to get emotional. Especially in front of _him_.

"May I carry the Foragar?" he said.

The question caught me a bit off guard, but I nodded. I handed it to him quickly, not looking at its reading. Eru dammit, I _knew_ where it was pointing.

A halfhearted smirk from Legolas confirmed my fears, but he didn't comment on the matters of my heart. Instead, he gazed at the compass for a long moment, then murmured, "The path to our escape lies that way." He glanced at me, then hesitantly asked, "May I lean on you?"

"Of course," I replied.

He placed his hand on my shoulder once more, leaning into it. I instinctively wrapped my good arm around his waist, and though he flinched lightly at my touch, he didn't pull away.

We began making our way in the direction I'd walked before, but slowly. Legolas didn't complain, but his ragged breath indicated just how much pain he was in.

The Foragar led us directly to the doorway I'd been so eager to escape only minutes ago. Legolas sensed my hesitation, I'm sure, and I certainly felt his. But neither of us doubted the Foragar's accuracy, nor Legolas's desire to escape. So, without a word, we entered the suffocating dark. It went without saying that talking was entirely out of the question in these horrid echoing halls. Even our most careful footsteps were too loud.

My fingers involuntarily curled around a fistful of Legolas's tunic as we passed the Dwarf's remains. I felt Legolas glance at me, but I didn't return the gesture. I wasn't afraid of the body in and of itself. It was what had rendered the body into such a state that I feared. Greatly.

It wasn't long before we came to a four-way crossroad. Legolas stared intently at the Foragar, and I nervously glanced between the different corridors, watching for any sign of goblins. Of course, by the time I _saw_ anything, it would be far too late.

Finally, Legolas motioned that we should turn right.

Thus we continued for what must've been hours. We paused at countless intersections identical to the first, and passed hundreds of doors—some open, some closed. My ribs, which _had_ been okay, began to throb, and pain in my shoulder steadily grew. Legolas's limp grew more pronounced, as well, and he leaned on me more and more.

Finally, he guided us into one of the rooms. He shined the Foragar's light around, but other than a few rats which skittering around, the room was empty. Legolas motioned for me to help him sit down. That done, I seated myself on the cold stone floor beside him. Legolas handed me the Foragar, and I put it in my pocket, leaving us in complete darkness.

I felt Legolas lie down, and I followed his example, hesitantly curling up against his side. In response, Legolas put his arm around my back. Cradling my injured arm against my chest, I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

I awoke to screaming.

I jolted upright, and immediately bit back a cry. Pain raced through my body, stealing my breath. A moment passed before I was able to focus on anything except my own suffering.

The screams were from goblins, and not screams of pain. They were screams of frenzied excitement, and though they were distant, they probably wouldn't be for long.

I reached down, touching Legolas. Save the steady rise and fall of his chest, he wasn't moving at all.

How could he sleep through this racket?

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulder, I placed my right hand over Legolas's mouth and shook him with my left. I dared not say a word; who knew how close the nearest goblins were, or exactly how good their hearing was?

After a moment, Legolas stirred beneath my hands. I held him down as he struggled weakly. After a moment he stilled. His hand rested over mine, then travelled up my arm to my shoulder. I flinched, but his fingers didn't remain there long. He touched my hair, fingering my dirty, frazzled hair. And only then did he relax.

How sad. In the pitch darkness, he identified me by my horrible hair. No, that wasn't sad—that was _depressing_.

But with hoards of goblins probably about to descend on us, I didn't let my vanity hinder action. Grasping Legolas's arm, I helped him sit up. Then I stood, pulling him up as well. Eru, but I was sore!

We felt our way out of the room. I dared not pull out the Foragar, not with goblins on the move. It would be like a beacon. So we were reduced to inching our way along the walls.

Legolas did not lean on me any less than before. He stumbled frequently, and I had to wrap both my arms around his waist to catch him. Which, of course, sent daggers of pain through my arm, shoulder, ribs, and back.

When we reached an intersection, I reluctantly pulled out the Foragar, willing it to be as dim as possible. Its face still rendered me practically blind at first glance. Hiding the light under my shirt, I focused all my dehydration and hunger and worry and fear into a desire for escape. Then, I took the fastest possible look at the compass's reading before stuffing it back into my pocket.

We walked for a long time, rounding many sharp corners and slowly climbing. The symphony of goblin squeals faded in the background, but we never stopped.

Until Legolas collapsed altogether.

The axe slammed into the floor, startling me nearly out of my wits. Then Legolas buckled, and I barely caught him before he could hit the ground, too. Between my heart hammering from fright, and the agonizing pain that raced through my body from catching Legolas's full weight—well, let's just say it was fortunate I was dehydrated.

 _That_ was all well and good...but what _wasn't_ was that the axe falling might as well have been me screaming, " _Everybody come over here and kill us!_ "

I touched Legolas's face, frowning when he didn't respond. I gave him a firm tap on the cheek, but when he still didn't move, I sighed with resignation. Leaving him here wasn't an option, and neither was stopping. I'd have to carry him.

I quickly rummaged through my satchel until I found my rope. Then I draped Legolas's arms over my shoulders and tied his wrists in place. I flipped one end of the rope's length around behind me and Legolas, then tied the two ends together at the front, effectively securing him onto my back. Then I leaned down, almost falling under his weight, and grabbed the axe. Eru knew I would probably need it.

Then I started walking. The axe I used as a walking stick, helping me pull my weight and Legolas's along. His feet dragged, creating an awful scuffing noise. But it couldn't be helped.

The pain in my shoulder was agonizing. If there was any doubt that it was broken before, that doubt evaporated as I felt bone shards grinding together under Legolas's relentless weight.

I cried. I admit—though there was no excess fluid for tears, I had to stifle dry sobs as I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other. I had never before experienced such debilitating pain. And I hoped with all my might that I would never have to again.

When I first saw the first hazy shade of almost-blackness, I thought it was my imagination. But it wasn't. It was a wall. And a one hundred-eighty degree turn in the path. _Then_ there was light.

My eyes burned furiously, trying to remember how to adjust. But I had never been so grateful for light in all my years upon the earth.

The last few strides were the longest, but the most hopeful. We finally reached the doorway, but to my utter dismay, it was covered by massive boulders. Light streamed in between the gaps, but we were blocked in.

I rested my forehead on one of the rocks, resisting the urge to just lay down and give up. We were so close...but with Legolas unconscious and my not-terribly-strong body greatly weakened, we might as well have been miles underground.

I untied the rope holding Legolas onto my back, and gently lowered him to the stone floor. Then I trudged to the rock pile and peeked through one of the gaps. Though the torrent of light assaulted my eyes, it was nighttime. And cloudy, at that. I bit my lip. Should I call for help? Not now, obviously, but perhaps in the morning. Or maybe I should wait and see if anyone passed by.

A gruff voice just outside the rocks startled me. He bellowed something out in Black Speech. And while I didn't speak orckish, the phrase sounded less than endearing. Thank Eru, he wasn't yelling at me. Dozens of orcs crawled over the hillside like ugly, oversized ants.

It would seem that Legolas and I would have to endure the long dark of Moria for a little while longer.


	21. Awkward Silences

I returned to my flet that evening, where Cellinneth had drawn a bath for me. I adamantly ignored her lecture about propriety and whatnot as she helped me undress, which was alarmingly difficult to do. After the still-lecturing nurse removed my bandages, I stepped into the hot water and sank into the heat, wincing. Still, it was a good kind of pain. Then I leisurely began washing off the Moria grime, accepting Cellinneth's continued assistance.

When I was clean, Cellinneth rebandaged everything and helped me into bed. I fell asleep almost immediately.

 _The elleth was walking toward a boat in the water, then paused and glanced behind her. A dark-haired Dwarf watched her go with sad eyes, which lit up at her hesitation. She glanced at a blonde ellon, waiting for her in the boat. Then she shook her head at him. She would stay. She would help the people of Laketown rebuild their homes in Dale._

 _The Dwarf smiled shyly as the elleth approached him. Then he handed her a small hatchet. Picking up a larger axe, he motioned for her to follow him into the evergreen woods. As they walked, he hesitantly reached up and took her hand._

 _Meanwhile, at the lake's edge, the blonde ellon sat alone in the boat, his oceanic blue eyes hardening to an icy gaze._

 _The scene shifted. The same elleth sat in a small room, her hair straight and lank, her face gaunt. In her lap sat a baby—a happy baby. But the elleth did not share the child's joy. The elleth stood and handed the baby to a Dwarf woman, then left, never to return._

 _The child began to cry._

 _Again, the scene changed. A short, brown-haired girl was walking down a road, holding hands with a blonde ellon with loving blue eyes. At her other side walked a red-bearded Dwarf. The ellon said something, and all three burst out laughing, each genuinely happy to be with the other two._

 _Then time froze._

 _The trio of friends began walking backward, their gestures and moving lips working in reverse. The elleth walked backward into the small room and took back her child, sat and replaced the baby in her lap. The elleth and Dwarf's hands parted, and the pair walked backward to the lake. Exchanged a few words in reverse, then the elleth backed up to the initial halfway point between the ellon and the Dwarf._

 _The reversed vision halted, then played forward again._

 _The elleth gazed sadly at the Dwarf, but turned away. Got in the boat with the ellon and didn't look back. Never got pregnant. Never gave birth to the child._

 _The scene returned to that of the blonde-haired ellon and red-bearded Dwarf. But the brown-haired woman was nowhere to be seen. And the two males were arguing bitterly, agreeing only not to speak at all._

 _A new scene came next. A battlefield, slick with blood and dotted with bodies. The red-bearded Dwarf lay on his back, an Elvish arrow protruding from his chest. Blood matted his beard around his mouth, and his eyes were locked open in an eternal stare. Nearby lay an ellon, his blonde hair fanning out, stained with blood. His head lolled to the side, his throat sliced open and already bled out. His stunning blue eyes were open, and when a fly landed on one, he didn't blink._

 _Legolas..._

I awoke with a sharp cry, tears streaming down my face. It was a dream. It was just a dream.

I sat up in bed and focused on evening my erratic breathing, and stemming the flow of tears. This wasn't a logical reaction, after all, I'd had nightmares before.

But never one that vivid.

It wasn't long before Cellinneth came in, carrying a new dress. "Good morning," she chirped. "Lady Galadriel has invited all the Fellowship to dine with her, and we mustn't keep her waiting!"

My blood ran cold. Lady Galadriel? Me _eat_ with Lady Galadriel? Tremors ran through my body and my breath hitched. This wasn't happening. Mordor, this _couldn't_ be happening!

"My lady?" Cellinneth called, concern written in her expression.

Get it together, Eda. Now. If Galadriel knew, she wouldn't invite you to breakfast. You're just another member of the Fellowship. Deep breath. Galadriel doesn't know.

"Yes," I responded, my voice a little shaky. "I'm all right. Just nervous."

"Well, _that's_ understandable," Cellinneth replied, most of her concern disappeared. "But don't worry, the Lady is a very kind and noble elleth. She hears the very thoughts of our minds, and none can be hidden from her."

The blood drained from my face, and I swayed. Eru dammit, this was bad. Very, very bad.

"My lady," Cellinneth exclaimed, rushing over to me.

"I don't feel good," I moaned. And I wasn't lying. Mordor, it was the bloody truth.

"Let's get you dressed," Cellinneth said gently. "What you need now is a proper meal to strengthen you. Come along, now."

I nodded weakly and did as I was told. Cellinneth expertly dressed me and fixed my hair into a fancy Elvish updo I had no hopes of learning for myself. Finally, she took my elbow and led me outside.

I wasn't expecting Legolas to be waiting for us on the other side of the door. And, embarrassing as it was, I gave a short scream at his sudden appearance.

Cellinneth rubbed my arm, shooting a disapproving look Legolas's way. "My lord, you should be down at breakfast."

Legolas rolled his eyes and hobbled closer, leaning on a walking stick. "Eda, what's wrong?"

I shook my head vaguely. "I'm just not...I don't..."

Legolas turned to Cellinneth. "Thank you. I'll walk with her from here."

Cellinneth hesitated, then scurried away. Legolas's hand cupped my elbow, and we began to slowly descend the stairs winding around the mallorn tree trunk.

"Is it true that Galadriel can hear our thoughts?" I burst out at length.

A smirk tugged at Legolas's lips. "Yes. Though, I have never met the Lady in person before." He glanced at me. "Does this trouble you?"

"Yes," I admitted in a whisper.

Legolas turned to look at me again, the amusement long disappeared from his expression and replaced by concern. "Why do you fear?"

I dropped my gaze to my feet, watching the stairs slowly pass beneath me. "Legolas—" Eru, but his name was beautiful. Too beautiful to pass over _my_ tongue. "My history is...shameful. Too dark for me to willingly reveal to _her_."

"Eda." His voice was reproving. "The Lady will not condemn you for your parents' actions."

"I know." I shook my head. "It isn't that. I—" I hesitated. Did I really want to tell Legolas how I'd spent the last thirty years?

Legolas's thumb stroked my arm just over my elbow. "You can tell me," he said gently.

I still avoided his gaze. "But if I do, she'll be twice as likely to hear about what I've done."

He gave a quiet chuckle. "I'm quite sure she's already heard your thoughts, Eda. It's said she can hear the thoughts of all within Lothlòrien—as well as a handful of other people all across Arda."

My steps faltered. Illùvatar, I was walking to my own execution!

Legolas's hand tightened on my arm, holding me upright and keeping me moving. "Please, Eda," he said quietly. "I would like to know."

I nodded mutely, but it was a few steps before I could force the words out. "After I fled Erebor, I spent the first few years begging and stealing. I noticed I had a knack for slipping things into my pockets without people noticing, so I started stealing for hire."

I glanced at Legolas to monitor his reaction. His brow was slightly furrowed, but in concern—not anger. So I continued.

"Then someone offered me a lot of money for an assassination." I swallowed hard and dodged Legolas's sudden glance. "I was paid half in advance, and told I'd be given the second half when the job was done."

"Who was it you were to assassinate?" Legolas asked quietly.

"Lady Galadriel," I whispered, swallowing hard. "So I came here. Everything was going according to plan...Celeborn was gone on business or something, Galadriel was asleep, and I climbed in through her window. But when it came right down to it...I couldn't kill her."

Legolas gave a relieved sigh. His hand moved to the nape of my neck and gently stroked the exposed skin. I felt my muscles relaxing, almost against my will, but I gave a soft exhale of my own. He didn't hate me. I closed my eyes, inexplicably grateful.

"What happened then?" he asked gently.

I opened my eyes again. "I fled," I responded. "Moved on to the next job stealing. I took another assassination job soon enough, and lots more after that, but..." I shrugged bashfully. "I never could bring myself to complete them."

By now, we'd reached the base of the mallorn tree, and we went onto the worn path winding between the other mallorn trees.

"I believe it's safe to say Lady Galadriel will not criticize you for the actions of your youth," he said.

"If you say so," I murmured, unconvinced.

Legolas gently patted my uninjured shoulder and gave a light chuckle. "Do not sound so resigned. You will be with me—and the rest of the Fellowship. We will protect you," he said, his tone teasing.

I grinned; this side of Legolas was both pleasant and encouraging. I would try to enjoy it, while I was still around. And, for everyone's sake, I hoped he wouldn't revert back when Galadriel had me executed.

The path led to a mallorn tree even larger and glowing brighter than any of the others. The staircase around its trunk was broad and elaborate, and Legolas moved to climb it.

"Wait," I said, hesitating. "Are you sure this is the way?"

He glanced back at me, a wry grin lifting his features. "Yes. Come on." So I followed him.

Climbing was quite a bit more exerting than descending, and both of us struggled. Yet, finally, we reached a large, open flet encompassing the tree's width and extending outward. It was here that a long table made of white wood had been set up. The Fellowship was gathered around, some sitting, some standing. At the head, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn stood side-by-side.

"Eda!" Pippin exclaimed, jumping up and started running over to me. I flinched, but grinned at the overjoyed look on his face.

Legolas reached out and caught the Hobbit before he could wrap me in a potentially _very_ painful hug. "Careful," the ellon murmured. "She's injured."

Pippin's cheeks turned pink, and he said bashfully, "I'm sorry."

"Hush," I said to them both, moving forward to hug my friend. He gingerly wrapped his arms around me in return, but didn't squeeze. "I'm fine," I whispered to Pippin.

When we pulled apart, he looked up at me with big, moist eyes. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly.

"Nope," I replied, grinning. "You won't get rid of me that easy."

He grinned again and grabbed my hand. Tugging me to the table, he said, "You must try their sausages and tomatoes. Cooked just long enough!" He pulled me to two empty chairs between Merry and Boromir and promptly plopped down beside his friend.

Boromir stood and pulled out my chair for me. "I am glad you are well," he murmured, meeting my gaze for a split-second. His expression was not joyful, though. His brows were furrowed, and for the moment that he looked me in the eye, I saw deep angst in his soul.

"And I you," I replied in the same tone, seating myself. As Pippin loaded my plate, I longingly watched Legolas sit beside Aragorn on the other side of the table. Legolas met my gaze, understanding in his eyes. But he wasn't worried.

I took a deep breath, desperately hoping that I was wrong in my judgment of Lady Galadriel.

The Lord and Lady of Lothlòrien seated themselves once the rest of us were situated. Lord Celeborn began talking with Aragorn about battle strategies and the best armory and whatnot, but Lady Galadriel—what _she_ did scared me.

She did nothing.

She sat primly at her plate, not even serving herself a bite, and stared at Frodo. Frodo, in turn, took small bites, glancing at her for brief moments before looking away once more. Then, he gave a weary smile at his plate. Simultaneously, Galadriel masked a smile of her own. And her gaze turned to Samwise. Samwise blushed bright red, and he stared dutifully at his plate.

And that's when it clicked. She was _talking_ to them—in their minds. Panicked, I caught Legolas's eye, and he nodded subtly.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Why was this so scary for me? I'd faced death on more than one occasion, and while I'd been a little shaky afterwards, I'd _never_ gotten this rattled.

But, back then, I'd always been alone. I'd denied the throne of Erebor and chosen the life of a mercenary. I'd had nothing to lose but a life I despised. Now, I had the Fellowship. Nine—no, _eight,_ I corrected myself with a wince—other people that truly cared about me. Eight people that would be directly affected by whatever befell me today.

A moment later, Lord Celeborn's conversation with Aragorn petered out, and Lady Galadriel turned her stare onto my friend of old. He met her gaze bravely, but lines of concern etched into his expression.

Their silent conversation lasted a bit longer than the ones before, and beside me, Boromir began to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Doubtless waiting his turn to be cross-examined, as I was. I reached across myself with my left hand to touch his arm comfortingly. He startled at our contact, then glanced at my hand. I motioned that he could hold it, and to my surprise, he accepted.

Holding Boromir's hand was not like holding Legolas's. Boromir gripped my hand as though it were a lifeline, the power in his hold testing the strength of even _my_ bones. But despite the pain, I wouldn't deny him the gesture if it brought him comfort.

I felt Legolas's eyes drilling into the side of my head, so I met his gaze. His expression was disapproving, but the intensity in his expression didn't demand I pull away. Still...it was odd. Why would it bother him for me to give comfort to Boromir?

That trail of thought ended when Boromir's body went rigid. Slowly, he looked up at Lady Galadriel, then he began to tremble.

 _That_ scared me. If a full-grown Man and a trained warrior was shaking like a leaf from mere words within his mind, I wanted nothing to do with whatever this Lady had to say to me.

" _You comfort him."_

I jumped at the sudden sound of Galadriel's voice. But, judging by the stoic expressions from everyone else, only I could hear her. Except Legolas. He'd noticed my reaction, and was watching me with a concerned expression.

" _Of course I comfort Boromir,"_ I snapped internally. _"He's frightened."_

" _He has seen the true depths of his own heart,"_ Galadriel replied. _"He is right to be afraid."_

There was an awkward silence in our "conversation". In fact, awkward silence had settled over the entire table. And I found it remarkably difficult to _not_ think about the things I didn't want Galadriel to know about. To occupy my mind, I studied the one thing I found remotely interesting.

Legolas.

His hair had apparently been washed since last night, and was now combed out and hanging down midway between his shoulders and elbows. The silver tunic he wore drew attention to the gold in his hair, and electric blue of his eyes. His dark eyebrows quirked up in amused curiosity at my open stare, but I didn't look away. I didn't dare.

A tinkling laugh sounded out, at least in my mind. _"You guard your mind dutifully, Amariel, but a detailed account of the prince's legendary attractiveness will not prevent me from searching your mind."_

Mordor. I let my gaze drop back to my plate, and I studied a slice of tomato, just for something to do with my eyes.

" _You think I am angry."_ Her voice—or mental voice—was mildly amused. _"It will undoubtedly come as a shock to you that I am not."_

I snapped my gaze up to meet hers. _"You aren't?"_

Lady Galadriel gave me a serene smile. _"No. I was aware of your presence the moment you entered my realm—this time and the last. Aware, and quite fascinated."_

My eyes widened. _"If you knew...why didn't you stop me?"_

" _I was curious at your dedication to your mission—and your determination to escape the past."_

I looked away. _"You mean Erebor."_

" _Indeed."_ A pause, then, _"Look at me."_ I obeyed—I could hardly do otherwise. Then Galadriel said, _"I was awake that night you came to my bedchamber. I was even the one to send my husband away—I feared he would overreact when your intents became evident."_

I took a deep, steadying breath. _"You were waiting for me, knowing what I intended. Yet, you allowed me to enter your room and leave freely. Why?"_

Another slight smile became evident on her elegant face. _"Rest assured, I was in no way unprepared. But I wanted to know if you would truly attempt to kill me, or if your natural respect for life would prevent you. I was not disappointed."_

I gave a tiny sigh of relief.

" _However."_

That tiny sigh of relief stuck in my throat.

" _There is still the matter of your behavior toward my marchwarden and his brother."_

I flinched and reluctantly met Lady Galadriel's saddened gaze. _"Yeah...about that..."_ I bit my lip, trying to organize my thoughts. Not that it mattered, since she'd already been through them all. _"I'm not proud of that,"_ I answered finally. _"There are a lot of things I'm not proud of...but that ranks among the highest."_

" _Right alongside teasing my grandsons."_

I cringed. Sad that I had to ask, but, _"And...who are your grandsons?"_

" _Elladan and Elrohir."_

I choked on my spit. Coughed a couple times, then exclaimed, _"What!?"_

Lady Galadriel was definitely trying not to laugh now. _"Yes, Elrond Half-Elven is my son-in-law. But, that is another conversation for another time. And I do hope we may speak again, for there is much to discuss."_

I squirmed uncomfortably. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do _less_. Except maybe kiss Dwalin. That would be disgusting.

" _But, for the time being, I should like to know why you joined the Fellowship of the Ring."_

The Ring! I snuck a glance at Frodo, which he noticed, and frowned at. _"Well...I joined because I was bored, and I didn't want to stay in Rivendell."_

" _But you could have quit at any time,"_ Galadriel argued. _"You could have sought out adventure further south, or west, or even returned to Erebor. Yet, you chose to brave the hardships the Fellowship has faced. Even when Legolas lost consciousness in the dark of Moria, you carried him out at great risk to yourself. Why?"_

I didn't answer immediately. I didn't even know. Why _had_ I?

" _Search yourself,"_ Galadriel said gently. _"Find the answer. For knowing your own heart is the key to understanding your own actions."_

My thoughts shifted to the Foragar—Eru, I didn't even know where it was. But that little compass said nearly the exact same thing on the back. I was about to question Galadriel about it, but her gaze had already shifted to Gimli.

I closed my eyes and let out a soft breath, relaxing in my chair. Boromir's callused thumb scraped over my knuckles, reminding me I still held his hand. I met the Man's gaze, which was still agonized in a way I didn't understand, but it also held concern for me. I gave him a soft nod to tell him I was okay.

Under the table, a foot rested on top of mine, and startled, I looked up at Legolas.

 _I'm okay,_ I mouthed at him. He nodded his response, then raised an eyebrow pointedly at my plate.

" _Yes, mother,"_ I replied, then realized a moment too late Galadriel was the only one that heard that. I gave an internal huff. This in-the-brain talking just wasn't natural.

"Bah!" Gimli exclaimed suddenly.

The entire Fellowship startled at his unexpected reaction, as well as Lord Celeborn. Lady Galadriel just smiled and kept looking at Gimli.

Legolas gave a disgusted exhale and rolled his eyes, then returned to eating. I covered my mouth, pretending to muffle a hiccup or something, but masking a snicker instead. I was _extremely_ grateful to be only half Dwarf.

After a moment, Legolas looked up at Galadriel, his gaze tranquil. A slight furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and he glanced at me.

They were talking about _me_.

I bit my lip, staring at my plate. I couldn't help wondering what they were saying, wondering what Legolas was thinking. Was Galadriel telling him about my dealings with Haldir and Rùmil? I seriously doubted Legolas would take that as lightly as he had the rest of what I'd revealed.

" _Rest assured, Amariel, I do not share secrets that do not belong to me."_

I looked up at Galadriel, startled that she'd decided to weigh in on my dilemma.

She met my gaze. _"But if you hope to maintain any lasting friendship with the prince, you must share with him the entirety of your past. The truth he accepts. It is falsehood and deceit that Legolas will not forgive so easily."_

Mordor. I was screwed.


	22. New Friend, Old Enemy

Instead of going directly back to our flets after breakfast, Legolas and I opted to walk around Lothlòrien for awhile before subjecting ourselves to Cellinneth's torture.

We walked in companionable silence for awhile, slowly climbing and descending the never-ending stairs leading the path over massive protruding mallorn roots. It wasn't long before my ribs were throbbing, and Legolas was leaning on his walking stick more than ever. So when we noticed a small path branching off to a garden, no discussion was needed for us to head that direction.

Plants on either side of the path gave the illusion we'd strayed into a child's maze. Or perhaps we had—I couldn't tell. At length, we reached a small clearing. At the center stood a wrought-iron birdbath, elegantly fashioned and standing proud. Around the edges of the clearing were scattered a few carved wooden benches. Legolas and I walked to the nearest one and sat down.

I'd heard this length of bench described before as a lovers' seat—just wide enough for two people to sit side-by-side. Legolas didn't seem put off by the lack of distance between us, so I settled in at his side without complaint. My mind strayed to our odd and unsettling breakfast with Lady Galadriel.

"Legolas," I said suddenly, "what did Galadriel say to you?"

He raised a dark eyebrow at me, and smirking a little, he said, "Do you make a habit of immediately asking others their confidential affairs?"

"Of course not. Well..." I looked away. "Unless it's something I think I ought to know."

"And what makes you think this is something you ought to know?" Legolas smoothly replied.

I frowned. "I just...got that impression." I met his gaze. "Is it?"

He gave a half-smile and turned to look at the surrounding flora. "The Lady informed me that there is much about you that I do not yet know."

I wasn't sure how to respond, and the following silence was uncomfortable.

Finally, Legolas said, "And what of _your_ conversation with Lady Galadriel? You seemed greatly interested in me for awhile."

Heat rose in my cheeks, and I stared straight ahead. "I was trying to block her," I mumbled.

"And did you find the exercise enjoyable?" Legolas's tone was far too close to laughter.

I shot him a humorless glare, which elicited a chuckle from him. Eru, was I _that_ transparent? Finally, I answered, "It could've been worse."

"Hmm." Legolas frowned at that, but playfully. Then he lazily draped an arm across the back of the bench, behind my shoulders, not touching me. "And what did she say to you? You appeared rather distraught." His teasing had disappeared, and he gazed at me concernedly.

I looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. "She knows about me. About who I am, where I'm from, what I've done..." While I'd never told any one person everything, if Galadriel wanted to blackmail the Mordor out of me, she would've had no lack of material or knowledge to do so. A shiver crawled up my spine, fleshing out into goosebumps where the dress's neckline failed to cover my neck and shoulders.

Legolas's hand gingerly touched my right shoulder, his fingertips grazing my skin. His other hand clasped my uninjured shoulder, and he said, "She is not angry with you...?" It came out more as a question.

I swallowed hard and shook my head. "No. It's just—she's so powerful. It frightened me all those years ago...but now I'm terrified."

A small grin lifted Legolas's features, and he said, "It would seem, proper fear is a mark of maturity. At least in you."

I snorted. "Sad, but true." I heard the edge of bitterness in my own tone, and I was just as surprised by it as Legolas.

"Why sad?" he questioned softly.

I glanced up, and was suddenly trapped in his dangerously blue gaze. And with a sinking sensation in my stomach, I realized what I was feeling. And, as unbecoming as my language could be at times, there was one four-letter word I couldn't afford to add to my vocabulary.

As well as a particular five-letter word Elladan had spat in my face not so long ago.

Legolas's fingers gently lifted my chin, guiding me to face him. Concern was written in his expression. "Why sad, mellon nin?"

A single tear streamed down my cheek before I could attempt to stop or hide it. "Because I only fear what I've been burned by," I whispered brokenly.

Sympathy swam around in Legolas's eyes. Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers from my chin, revealing that my tear had rolled onto his forefinger. With his thumb, he stroked away the remaining trail of moisture from my cheek. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead on mine. "How else can gold be refined, Eda?" he whispered, his voice a mere breath.

"I see she has you calling her by her human name."

I startled, trying to pull away as Haldir stepped out from behind a trellis, but Legolas held me close. The marchwarden crossed his arms across his broad chest and glared down at us. Mordor, how much had he heard?

Legolas lifted his head from mine and turned to face Haldir. A long moment of silence passed between them, with Legolas openly sizing up the intruder. Finally, he said, "Actually, the name is Dwarvish. Though the mistake is an easy one to make for any who did not know."

Haldir sneered. "Then you know of her shame."

Legolas casually raised an eyebrow. "That she is half-Elven and half-Dwarvish? Yes."

"This is but one fact she hides so diligently." Haldir's eyes darkened. "Amariel conceals the truth beneath a cloak of darkness and conceit."

Legolas's cool hand clasped mine, and he said indignantly, " _Eda_ reveals what she will, and I do not pry. Likewise, I hardly see what business it is of yours."

Old hatred lit in Haldir's eyes, and fixing me in his glare, he murmured, "Did she tell you of how she used my brother? How, upon her departure, she nearly stole his Light?" Haldir's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Did she tell you that, even now, he struggles to remain within Arda? How his heart yearns for Valinor?"

I averted my gaze, with no defense. No excuses, no one to blame...nothing. I had earned every one of Haldir's bitter accusations.

"The latter, it seems, would be your brother's tale to tell," Legolas returned coolly. "As for the former, I may be mistaken, but I don't believe it ever came up."

I blinked, still avoiding Haldir's hateful gaze. Why was Legolas defending me? And over something he knew nothing about. Assuming, of course, that Galadriel had kept her promise and not told him. And lying seemed rather underhanded for an elleth as powerful as she.

"You are mistaken," Haldir replied, his tone as smooth as snakeskin. "Though perhaps not in this."

Legolas's strong fingers squeezed my hand. I glanced up at him, catching his passing glance for a moment. His eyes betrayed his concern and doubt; he _knew_ he was venturing into foreign territory. Determination hardening his gaze, he turned to Haldir. "I do not understand your snide remarks thus encrypted. Unless you wish to speak senselessly with yourself, say what you will straightforwardly, so that I may answer."

Haldir slid me a venomous glance, then turned to Legolas, straightening to his full height. "I speak as one ellon to another, having once been where you are now." His tone had turned lofty, and he gazed down his nose at us, much as an older child would to a toddler.

"Then speak," Legolas said, his voice dangerously soft.

This prompted a smirk from Haldir. "Everything that Amariel does, she does for herself. Do not trust her with your heart, as Rùmil so foolishly did. For that, too, she will use for her own devices."

With a haughty flourish, Haldir swept out of the garden, leaving me alone with Legolas and history I would do anything to rewrite.

A weighty silence pressed in on us. I expected Legolas to break our contact and begin interrogating me. The wait was agonizing. Finally, he turned our clasped hands over so that mine was on top, and he placed his other hand over that. He took a deep breath, then released it. Another deep breath then, "Amariel?"

Chills ran down my spine, and longing bloomed deep within my stomach. He'd said my name. My Elvish name.

And it was beautiful.

I closed my eyes, mentally squashing down the fuzzy feelings. "Yes," I said, avoiding his gaze. "That's what my mother named me."

"'Daughter of the earth'," he translated in a thoughtful murmur. Reaching up to my face, he took a stray curl that had fallen out of Cellinneth's masterpiece and tucked it behind my ear. "She named you well," he said. "For as the Elves rule the land and forests above the earth, so the Dwarves rule the land and treasures beneath."

There was something startlingly kind in Legolas's tone that convinced me to meet his gaze. Steady blue eyes silently communicated that I had nothing to fear from him.

Tears pooled in my eyes. "Oh Legolas!" I burst out, yanking my hand from his and throwing my good arm around his neck. Burying my eyes into his shoulder, I sobbed.

I was vaguely aware that he tensed at my sudden outburst. Then, slowly, Legolas relaxed and put his arms around me. "Shh," he whispered, rubbing my back soothingly. He said nothing else, just held me in silence until the tsunami had passed.

Finally, I swallowed and took a deep, shuddery breath. Mordor, why had I let myself go to pieces like that? I couldn't afford to keep letting my heart speak for my head. And, _Eru_ , this was embarrassing. I pulled away, noticing the darkened spot on the shoulder of Legolas's tunic. Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I muttered, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Legolas replied gently. "I would be concerned if you showed no remorse at Haldir's dire accusations."

My heart fluttered, but I forcibly stamped the sentiment out of my mind. I would learn to control my feelings. If I had to burn my heart out of my chest, I _would_ command these cursed feelings spinning around in my otherwise-empty head.

Legolas touched my cheek, drawing my gaze back. "Let's go back to our flets. You're tired, as am I, and I'm sure an afternoon of rest would be beneficial for both of us."

I didn't answer immediately, instead closing my eyes and focusing on his touch—what it did to me. The pathetic warmth in my belly trying to melt me from the inside out. I took a long, deep breath and willfully forced the emotion from my mind.

"Eda?"

Finally, his touch did nothing but send a mild tingle across my cheek. I opened my eyes, mentally driving my runaway heart into the corner and feeling nothing as I met Legolas's worried gaze.

"Yes." My voice was startlingly distant, even to my own ears. But I did nothing to change it. "Let's."

Legolas frowned slightly, but said nothing as he took his walking stick and stood. I followed his example, and when he offered his arm to me, I took it, satisfied at my body's lack of reaction.

No words passed between us as we slowly made our way back to the mallorn tree of healing rooms. Nor was our silence comfortable, as it usually was. Legolas's occasional side-glances were concerned and questioning, and I didn't have the inclination _or_ courage to explain myself. I was just grateful he didn't ask.

When we had finally climbed the many stairs to my flet, Legolas stopped and turned to face me. He placed his long fingers under my chin, drawing my reluctant gaze up to his face. "I hope we may speak again soon," he said simply, looking deep into my eyes.

I looked away, backing away from his touch. And while my heart cried out from solitary confinement, my mind congratulated me in this simple victory. "Of course," I replied quietly, but without emotion.

Legolas hesitated, and I could feel his gaze sweeping over me. Looking for the cause of my sudden change in behavior. Finally, he gave a single nod and continued limping up the stairs to his own flet.

I allowed myself three seconds of watching him leave. Then I turned away and entered the single-room flet I'd been assigned.

I pushed the door shut behind me, then leaned back against it. Fresh tears rose in my eyes, spilling over unchecked. It hardly mattered now. I was alone in an empty room. And even if the room were filled with people, Eru knew I'd still be alone. I always had been.

I closed my eyes, pushing out more tears. Feeling their heat, and the chill they left in their wake. Something about this place, this mysterious wood, completely stripped me of my defenses. Reminded me of a side of me I'd buried thirty years ago.

A little girl that had never known the love of a parent of the comforts of a home.

I slept through the entire afternoon, which naturally meant that I woke up at sundown and couldn't go back to sleep.

Cellinneth brought me some supper—more lettuce, but with chucks of egg and meat, mercifully—and when she changed my bandages, I experimentally wiggled my fingers on my right hand. My whole arm throbbed like the dickens, but I _was_ regaining some limited mobility. So, after much arguing and pleading with my mother-hen nurse, I convinced her to bandage my shoulder and leave my arm in a simple sling so that I could move it around a bit.

That didn't keep me from being stir-crazy.

I paced the length and width of the flet until my ribs burned and I could barely breathe. Guilt over Haldir and Rùmil, and the revelations about Legolas, chewed at my mind. My heart rattled its cage, begging to be released.

I refused.

A couple hours after dark, I determined to go for a walk. Maybe cause some innocent trouble, if the opportunity arose and I felt the urge. _Anything_ but staring at four walls that did nothing but stare back.

I walked across the room and opened the wardrobe, scowling at the two dresses within and wishing I could have my old set of black clothes. They were probably damaged beyond repair. I sighed. Even if I had them, getting them on would probably be a painful chore.

My gaze rested on a new item—lacy and white. I huffed. Couldn't I wear anything a little less gossamer here? But, I should know by now that _economical_ and _convenient_ weren't in the Official Lothlòrien Vocabulary.

Neither were a number of other words and phrases running through my head at the moment.

I pulled out the gauzy garment for examination. It was an evening robe, meant to be worn over a nightgown for modesty. Perfect. Well...not quite perfect. But plenty close enough. I'd learned early in life—beggars can't be choosers.

I let my arm out of its loop sling, biting my lip against the inevitable pain to come. Then I carefully pulled the sleeve up over my arm and awkwardly wrangled the robe on. After returning my arm to its sling, I stuffed my feet into my awful shoes and slipped into the night.

I walked the twisting paths of Lothlòrien aimlessly, just grateful to be out of my room. At night, the mallorn trees glowed with an ethereal silver light, keeping the dark of night in the distance at bay. And, I admit, I kept no track of the direction I wandered or the order of scenery that would guide me back to my flet.

At length, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. I might as well have been transported into another dimension, I was so thoroughly lost. And there weren't any Elves wandering around at this hour, either. I sighed and shook my head at myself. The messes I get myself into.

"Nothing looks the same in hindsight, does it?"

I startled at the proximity of Galadriel's voice. My heel caught a root, and I stumbled backwards. Galadriel jumped forward, grabbing my left arm and right side, preventing me from falling. I cringed at her sudden nearness, but she calmly waited until I had regained my balance. Then she straightened and backed a step, catching my gaze. She didn't say anything, though, just looked at me.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably, breaking eye contact. "I guess you're wondering why I'm out this late."

Galadriel smiled, and her sudden beauty, paired with her elegance, was almost breathtaking. "No," she replied. "I have listened to your thoughts ever since you awoke from your rest."

I sighed. This mind-reading thing was getting melodramatic, fast.

Galadriel chuckled. "I assure you, with time it grows quite dull. My people are quite used to it." She gestured to the path before us. "Shall we walk?"

Nodding, I followed her lead. We walked in silence, finally turning onto a path made of stone, and many stairs descending. At the bottom of the stairs was a small clearing, surrounded by stone walls. A small stream of water flowed from a crack in the wall, feeding little pond. And at the center of the clearing stood an elaborately-chiseled...birdbath?

Galadriel gave a delicate laugh. Lifting a silver pitcher from the ground, she walked to the stream and filled it. "No," she said, a smile in her voice. "This is my mirror." She caught my gaze with a meaningful expression, then took the pitcher to the birdbath-mirror. Pouring the water in, she said, "Would you care to look?"

I ran my fingers through my hair, hitting a tangle almost immediately. Dwarvish hair simply wasn't meant to stay combed, I lamented with a sigh. "Sorry if I look like a troll," I said. "I _did_ just kinda roll out of bed."

Galadriel gave another laugh as she set the pitcher down. "That is not the purpose of this mirror. The purpose of this mirror is to reveal truth—that of the past, that of the present, and sometimes, that of the future."

I swallowed hard. Foresight was tricky, and given my luck with it last time, I wanted nothing to do with it now. I cleared my throat and half-heartedly attempted a grin. "I'm not sure what's scarier, to be honest," I said, all too aware that Galadriel already knew my true reason for declining. "Whether I look in a mirror and see myself, or I look in a mirror and _don't_ see myself."

Galadriel gazed at me, a sad smile on her lips. "A true dilemma," she said softly.

I crossed my left arm over my stomach beside my right. "Hey. Don't pick on the half-Dwarf. It's not nice."

Her smile broadened with amusement, and she said, "If you will not look, then I shall." Placing her fair hands on the sides of the birdbath-mirror, she leaned down to gaze at the water's surface. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders in golden waves, and I wished longingly that my hair were that beautiful.

A slight frown appeared between Galadriel's eyebrows, and she glanced up at me.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The mirror was showing me, I was sure. But...what was there about me that Galadriel didn't already know?

The future.

My breath hitched as I recalled the feel of my own knife pressed to my throat. And Elrond's words.

 _You are a variable we cannot afford._

I had to escape. I glanced at the stairs leading out of the room, then back at Galadriel. She met my gaze, her expression serene, albeit a little concerned. Eru dammit, she probably foresaw _all_ of this. She probably had soldiers waiting for me to bolt. There was no way out.

"Amariel," the Lady murmured, her tone soothing. She slowly moved away from the mirror, toward me. When I backed away, she halted her approach. "I would not hurt you, nor attempt to mold your fate a certain way."

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to form a coherent plan of action.

Galadriel lowered herself to her knees. My eyes widened in disbelief as the Lady of Light knelt before me, evening our height. She reached out a delicate hand to me, and I hesitantly placed mine in hers.

Looking deep into my eyes, she said, "Elrond was wrong to treat you as he did. It is not the place of any to attempt controlling the destinies of others."

I felt the tears coming, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry. Eru knew I'd done enough of that in the last twenty-four hours to last a couple of years.

Galadriel ran a hand over my messy hair, her kind eyes running over me. "You have matured greatly since last you came," she murmured. "Yet, in so many ways, you are still but a child." When I didn't respond, she stood and said, "Let us sit and speak properly. There are many things I wish to discuss."

I nodded mutely and followed her to a stone bench. We sat side-by-side, and she said, "Your heart is heavy, remembering Elrond's actions."

I nodded. After all, what was there to say?

"There is no denying that my son-in-law wronged you," Galadriel said gently. "But do not be angry with him. What he did, he did for the right reasons, and with no little amount of regret."

"He tried to kill me," I said bluntly.

"Yes," Galadriel replied calmly. "He did."

"Why?!" I cried.

The Lady placed her hand on my shoulder. "There are many things you do not understand—"

I huffed a sigh and looked away. Here we go again.

"—which I desire to explain to you, should you be willing to hear."

I snapped my eyes to hers. Some actual answers? Mordor, yeah.

Galadriel frowned slightly, but remained on subject. "You are one of a kind, Amariel. Elves and mortals have fallen in love before, but _never_ before has an Elf bonded to a Dwarf. The consequences of such a union—however brief—are widespread and _very_ far-reaching."

I shook my head. "I still don't understand."

"Arda favors you," Galadriel replied straightforwardly. I blinked, not sure if I could trust my own ears. A wide smile spread across the Lady's face, and laughing lightly, she said, "Yes! The earth itself favors your presence. Already, it has given you strength and sustenance when you need it most."

My mind whirled. It was frequently said that orcs were so vile that Arda itself despised them. But I had never stopped to consider if the opposite was possible. _That_ , I suppose, wasn't terribly hard to comprehend.

But... _me_?

Galadriel's hand covered mine. "Legolas touched on something in your conversation earlier. The combined affinities of Elves and Dwarves for Arda is quite possibly the reason for the favoritism it shows you. Amariel—daughter of the earth—you have the potential to be very powerful."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. This was...unexpected. "So...can I control Arda or something?"

Galadriel's expression showed shock. "No indeed! Only Eru Illùvatar can alter Arda's path. But, as Arda's friend, you may request assistance."

I exhaled, almost missing Elrond's universal 'you don't understand'. "You said that I've already received assistance from the earth," I said, my voice weary. "When?"

"In Moria," Galadriel replied. "You would not have even regained consciousness from such a fall, had Arda not strengthened you."

I nodded slowly. It made sense...in a weird, confusing, nonsensical sort of way.

Galadriel gave a quiet laugh and gently rubbed my back. "Regardless of what Elrond saw, you were _meant_ to join this Fellowship."

"Then why did he try to kill me?"

Galadriel looked deep into my eyes. "Because you are the Fellowship's greatest danger."


	23. Revelations

I swallowed hard. Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir. Gimli, and the Hobbits. _I_ was their greatest danger?

"Then why don't you restrain me the way Elrond did?" I demanded, bitterness steeping my words.

Galadriel lifted my chin, as Legolas had begun making a habit of. A smile graced her lips. "Because you are also the Fellowship's greatest hope," she whispered.

My breath came in shaky bursts. This was too much responsibility. _Way_ too much. "My Lady, I...I can't..." I shook my head, the desperate words of despair getting tangled up in my head.

" _Can't_ is a self-fulfilling prophecy," Galadriel said gently. "If you allow yourself to believe that you cannot accomplish something, you never will."

I looked away. She was right, of course. But that didn't make my position any easier to deal with.

"When I was probing your mind this morning," Galadriel said, "I discovered something you had pushed into the back corner and nearly forgotten. If I may, I would like to remind you of it."

I sniffed back the ever-present tears and nodded. "Go for it."

"Had Sauron never stepped on Isildur's blade and broken it, Narsil would never have cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. Narsil would've been just another ownerless sword on a desolate battleground. For some things to become whole, they must first be broken."

I gave her a sad smile. "That's not exactly encouraging."

"It is not intended to be," Galadriel replied gently. "But I have something more to add." I nodded for her to continue, and she said, "For you to truly gain what you desire, you must first sacrifice everything that you have."

I flinched. _Sacrifice_ wasn't a word I particularly cared for. Especially when I'm the one supposed to do the sacrificing. Metaphorically speaking. I hoped.

Galadriel ran an affectionate hand over my snarled hair once more, then said, "It is late, and you are weary. Return to your flet and rest. We will speak again in due time."

"I don't know the way," I admitted. "We could be halfway to Mordor, and I wouldn't know it."

The Lady of Light gave a quiet chuckle. "Fear not, I summoned a guide."

A not-pleasant thought popped into my head, and I internally cringed, already knowing my guess was correct. I didn't even dare put it in words.

" _It's Haldir, isn't it?"_

Galadriel calmly met my gaze. _"You hurt him, Amariel."_

" _I didn't mean to!"_

" _I know you didn't. But he is hurt nonetheless."_

I looked away, ashamed.

"My Lady," called a familiar male's voice from a ways up the staircase. "I have come, as you reque..." Haldir's sentence trailed off, and a long moment of silence ensued. I could only imagine the mental conversation he was having with Galadriel.

"Haldir," Galadriel said stoically, "this is Amariel. She requires assistance returning to her flet for the evening. Would you be so kind as to guide her?"

A long pause. I didn't dare meet Haldir's glare, which I could feel drilling between my shoulder blades. Galadriel, on the other hand, had the audacity to look amused.

"Of course," Haldir finally ground out.

" _He's going to kill me,"_ I thought nervously.

Galadriel looked at me. _"I would know if his hatred were that strong."_

I nodded reluctantly and stood. She was right, as always.

Galadriel stood as well. _"Haldir will claim that your actions did not affect him, and that his anger toward you is exclusively because of your dealings with Rùmil. That is a lie."_ Galadriel's deep, burdened eyes betrayed her sadness. _"Rùmil's heart is eager to forgive, while Haldir's is not."_

I risked a glance over my shoulder at Haldir. He glared back at me.

" _If only this once,"_ Galadriel said, _"heed my council. Let not another night pass without making right your mistake."_

" _He won't forgive me,"_ I mentally mumbled.

" _It is not your job to_ make _him forgive you. It is your job merely to ask."_

"Shall we go?" Haldir asked coldly.

Galadriel gave him a disapproving look, but I nodded. "Yes. Thank you." Turning to Galadriel, I added, "Thank you for speaking with me, my Lady. Your efforts to help me are not in vain."

Galadriel smiled. "I am glad. Rest well, Amariel."

I turned and crossed the clearing, then climbed the stairs to where Haldir stood. He stiffly offered his arm to me, and I hesitantly rested my hand on his forearm. We still managed to walk through Lothlòrien with a good two feet between us.

Several minutes passed this way, until finally I burst out, "Haldir—"

"Don't."

That single word embodied all the pain, anger, and bitterness I'd caused. _This_ —this was _my_ fault. No one else's.

I couldn't bring myself to speak again until we reached the tree my flet was built into. Turning away, Haldir muttered, "I assume you can find your way from here."

I caught his sleeve. "Wait, please."

Haldir went rigid, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Release me."

My heart thundered in my chest, and I was scared as Mordor, but Galadriel was right. I should at least apologize. "No," I whispered.

Haldir rounded on me, his eyes furiously incredulous. "'No'?"

I took a deep, shaky breath. "You don't have to forgive me," I said. "But at least let me apologize."

The ellon stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he jerked his sleeve out of my grip and took a step back. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, "Very well."

I hesitated. I hadn't planned on having to give a speech. But, it was better than nothing. Theoretically speaking.

"The way I treated you was wrong," I started. Might as well jump in with both feet, right? "And Rùmil, too."

"Do not speak of him," Haldir snapped under his breath. "He is none of your concern."

I begged to differ, but I nodded anyway. "Okay. But, um...I was never proud of what I did. If I could change what happened...I would." I was rambling. What did Haldir even want me to say? Because standing there and glaring at me wasn't helping. "I know you won't forgive me, but, I wish you would." I hesitantly met his gaze. "I'm sorry."

A pause. Then: "Are you finished?"

I ducked my head. "Yes."

Haldir turned and walked away without another word. My heart sank, and I began climbing the stairs winding around the mallorn tree. I didn't realize how _much_ I wanted to be forgiven, until forgiveness was denied. And it hurt.

"Eda?"

I jumped, suddenly realizing Legolas was _right_ in front of me. Mordor, how much had he heard? By his expression, all of it. Eru, could the night get any _worse_?

He reached out to me, and my heart cried out for someone who didn't hate my guts. But I told my traitorous heart to shut up, and I sidestepped Legolas's open arms. "I'm going to bed," I mumbled, not meeting his gaze. I was surprised that he didn't try to stop me, but I didn't ask questions—just hurried to my flet.

Twenty minutes ago, I would've thought I was too tired for the waterworks. But once I was safe in the privacy of my flet, I collapsed on the bed and cried myself to sleep.

 **Legolas's POV**

Eda was crying.

I could hear her sobs.

She'd made it abundantly clear that she didn't want my comfort, so I considered myself free to resolve the crux of the problem.

"Haldir!" I called, finally making it to the bottom of the stairs. The ellon had doubtless put a good distance between us since he'd walked away from Eda so brusquely, but he would still hear my call. And thinking it cowardice not to answer, he would return.

Haldir was an excellent warrior, and had earned the title of marchwarden. But hard to anticipate he was not.

In my opinion, he was fair game in whatever ploy Eda had trapped him in.

At length, Haldir reappeared. Crossing his arms and leaning against a tree, he said, "Why do you call?"

I cut to the chase. "Eda apologized to you."

"Indeed. But decades too late."

"And so you must receive your apology within a specific window of time for it to mean anything?" I shot back.

"I hardly see how this is any of your concern," Haldir ground out.

"This is _entirely_ my concern," I snapped. "Eda's mother was my...friend. My friend sailed to Valinor, leaving Eda parentless. _I_ am her protector now."

Haldir gazed at me for a long moment, then gave a single humorless laugh. "I didn't think you stupid enough for that, my friend. I didn't think you'd fall for it."

"Fall for what?" I growled under my breath.

Haldir's fingers bent into quotations. "'Eda'." I started to protest, but he interrupted me. "Mark my words, Legolas. She may act like she cares about you, but in the end?" He shook his head. "Everything she does is for the benefit of one person. Herself."

In hindsight, it's a good thing I wasn't armed. Because it takes a lot longer to tackle someone and punch them than it does to draw an arrow and fire a killshot. And by the time I realized what was happening, I'd already thrown Haldir down and broken his nose.

Though I was still angry, I stood up and backed away, letting Haldir up. He glared at me, pinching his bloody nose.

"Get out of here," I snarled. "And stay away from Eda."

Scowling, Haldir turned and strode away, still holding his nose. I watched him leave, a remarkably satisfying ache beginning to throb in my knuckles. Finally, I began climbing the many stairs to my own flet.

My leg was sore, but even after just a day of resting and Elvish medicine, the bone was knitting back together nicely. I was beyond grateful to Eru Illùvatar for the speedy recovery of Elves.

I paused at Eda's flet. Her sobs had quieted to tired sniffles, and I wanted to comfort her. But though fact that I'd broken Haldir's nose _should_ make her feel better, I doubted it would. I would tell her of my heroic quest to defend her honor in the morning. But for now, she would be happier left alone.

So, quietly, I went to my own flet and closed the door.

 **Eda**

A knock on the door roused me from my restless sleep. I sighed as the darkness of my own mind began to fade away, but my exhausted body begged me to ignore the intrusion and pursue another hour of sleep. Groaning, I rolled onto my side and gave in to the temptation.

Creaking softly, the door opened, and light footfalls crossed the flet. "Eda?" His cool hand rested on my upturned shoulder.

A mild throb resonated from his touch, and I grunted. "Ow."

"Sorry." Legolas's voice was amused, and not in the least apologetic. The bed shifted as he sat down beside me, and he added, "Aragorn told me he's going down to the archery range to practice, and Boromir will be going with him to work with the Hobbits on their skills with a blade. Aragorn asked if I wanted to come, and I wondered if you might escort me."

I groaned again, mentally clawing at the fleeting tendrils of sleep. "Why?"

"To meet with the Fellowship," Legolas said, a smile in his tone. "And...after what happened in Moria...I should feel better with you at my side."

I couldn't help but grin. Rolling onto my back, I smirked up at him and mumbled sleepily, "What, afraid you might faint again?"

Legolas's jaw dropped in shock. "No indeed!" A spark entered his eyes, and he said in mock offense, "Perhaps _you_ should like to break your leg and run on it for hours, and see how much better you fare!"

I chuckled, rubbing my eyes. With the whole creepy 'daughter of the earth' thing, there was a chance I _would_ handle it better. But I opted not to bring that up just yet.

Legolas laughed with me, then reached down to brush some stray hairs out of my face. "Will you come?"

"Ugh," I said, feigning reluctance. "If you insist."

"Good," Legolas replied. He stood and picked up my shoes, which I'd apparently kicked off sometime during the night, and moved to put them on my feet.

My heart rattled its cage, begging— _pleading—_ to be let out. I mentally put a gag on my traitorous heart, snatching my feet out of Legolas's reach. "Don't even think about it," I muttered, motioning for him to hand over my shoes. He did, an expression of confusion crossing his face. I ignored it. Legolas had no business touching my feet.

"Well," he said awkwardly, "at least you're already dressed."

"True," I said, grateful that he was willing to wave the moment aside. I didn't _want_ to treat him coldly—I just didn't know how else to discipline my heart into submission. Truthfully, my pendulum-like behavior wasn't fair to Legolas. Which is why, after we'd left the flet and he offered his arm to me, I accepted.

We walked in companionable silence, save the occasional times that Legolas stopped a passerby to ask for directions. Still, I battled with my heart, desperate for the control I had lacked for so long.

At length, we reached the archery range. It was amazingly long, ideal for practicing long-range accuracy. Aragorn was already stationed alongside a few of the Lothlòrien Elves, struggling to draw back the string of a longbow almost as tall as he was. In the corner, Boromir was working with the rascals again, with Gimli watching.

Legolas led me over to Aragorn, just as the Man released an arrow. It flew across the room, striking the target on the lower rim and a little to the left. Chuckling, Legolas said, "Perhaps you'll have better luck with something a little smaller."

Aragorn flashed Legolas a look of irritation—the expression only old friends can give each other without causing offense. "I wager you'll do little better," he challenged. "This is twice the length of your own weapon."

Legolas shrugged, motioning for Aragorn to hand him the bow. Aragorn obliged, drawing an arrow from his quiver and handing that to Legolas, as well. I moved out of the way as Legolas began to laboriously draw back the string. The muscles in his arms and shoulders swelled to meet the challenge, until the bowstring was drawn all the way back. A pause, then Legolas released the arrow. It sailed straight and true, into the center of the target.

Aware of the glances passed around the room, Legolas flashed Aragorn a cocky grin.

Aragorn chuckled, shaking his head. "I stand corrected, my friend." Pulling off his quiver and handing it to Legolas, he said, "See if you cannot split the arrow you just fired."

Legolas rolled his eyes, but took the bait. As he prepared to shoot again, Aragorn walked over to me and wrapped me in a gentle hug. As he pulled back, he mouthed, _"He's in a good mood."_

I smiled and shrugged. Bows, arrows, weapons—all that stuff did remarkable things to improve the mood of any male.

"Eda!" Gimli bellowed right behind me, making me startle.

Laughing at my own reaction, I turned and met the Dwarf's embrace. "Gimli!" His arms cinched around my shoulders, and I gave a sharp gasp.

He immediately drew back. "I'm sorry, lassie, did I hurt ye?"

I rubbed my right arm, wincing. "No, no, I'm just a little sore. I saw you at breakfast yesterday, but never got to speak with you. How are you?"

"Well enough, lassie, well enough. Though Gandalf's passing was...unexpected." Gimli's voice grew gruffer at the last sentence.

I looked down, nodding silently.

"What were ye thinking, lass?" Gimli bellowed suddenly, drawing the attention of every person in the room. Even Boromir and the Hobbits turned to stare. "I oughta turn ye over my knee, standing in front of a cave troll like a twitterpated Elfling!"

I bit my lip, unsure if I should be ashamed or amused. Gimli's lecture was, by far, too little too late.

Legolas frowned at Gimli. "Hold your tongue, Dwarf. Know you not to whom you speak?"

"Legolas," I mumbled, "shut up, please." Aragorn chuckled, and I scowled at him.

"Erm..." Gimli scratched his hairy cheek. "I cannot say that I understand you question, laddie."

"Forgive me," Legolas said loftily. "I will simplify what I am saying so that you may understand. You are speaking to Eda, daughter of Kili, son of Dìs, daughter of Thrain. The only remaining heir to the throne of Erebor."

Gimli's eyes went wide, and he slowly turned to face me. "Is this true?" he whispered.

Ugh, Legolas! I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. It's true."

Gimli's axe clattered to the stone floor. The Dwarf backed three steps. Then he fell facedown with a loud _thud_.

Had he just _fainted_?

"Gimli," I mumbled, my cheeks heating. I knelt at his head and shook his shoulder. "Wake up."

"I sleep not in the presence of my Queen," Gimli wailed, "but rather pay homage to a ruler long-lost, and mourn my own wretched ignorance."

Oh great Eru, what had Legolas done!? I glared up at the smirking ellon, but he just grinned wider.

"Get _up_ , Gimli, you're making a scene!" I hissed, standing. "I'm not a queen, and you're not my subject!"

Gimli scrambled to his feet, then stared at me for several long, awkward seconds. Then he grabbed my hand and kissed it repeatedly. "Queen Eda," he said gruffly, "ye are most gracious."

I snatched my hand away. " _Don't_. Call. Me. That."

Gimli blushed. "Of course, Yer Majesty."

I whirled on Legolas. "How dare you."

He shrugged, still grinning. "Sorry."

"Was this your plan all along?" I demanded. "To drag me out here and reveal _everything_ I wanted to remain secret?"

I didn't realize I'd stepped forward until Aragorn grabbed me from behind. "Eda," he said in a calm but warning tone, "you need to control yourself. Walk away, cool down, don't do anything you'll regret later."

I took a deep breath and let it out. He was right. I couldn't just fly off the handle like that. Another deep breath, in and out, then I murmured, "You're right. Thank you."

Aragorn slowly let me go, and with a grateful nod to him, I strode toward the door. Behind me, I heard Aragorn murmur, "Let her go, Legolas."

I shot Aragorn a mental thank-you and kept walking. I exited the archery range, then hit one of the many paths winding through Lothlòrien. "Calm down," I mumbled to myself. "Eru, it's not really that big a deal. Just...males being males."

That didn't comfort me much.

"Eda?" The soft, _kind_ voice could have transported me back to another phase of my life—another life altogether. I stopped, but didn't turn around.

Haldir was going to murder me.

"Eda," he murmured, gently wrapping his arms around me from behind. His nose burrowed into my wild hair, and he whispered—in Quenya of course—"I can't believe it's really you."

"Rùmil," I sighed, pulling away and turning to face him. He hadn't changed a bit in the last thirty years—lean and not very tall, silvery hair that brushed his shoulders, and an angelic, boyish face—except now, his eyes held a deeper maturity than they did back then.

His gaze roamed over me in an innocent way. "You've changed in many ways. But I still recognize you." Rùmil smiled and gestured at my hair. " _That_ hasn't changed in the least."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course not. It's my best feature."

Rùmil laughed at my sarcasm, and my heart ached. It was like we'd been apart for thirty days, rather than thirty years. But I knew, I'd changed far more than he realized. We could never be the same.

He snagged my hand, and gazing into my eyes sadly, he said, "Why did you leave?"

I closed my eyes, then gently tugged my hand out of his. "Rùmil, you need to know something. I—I lied to you. About everything."

"I know about your plan to harm Lady Galadriel; she told me," Rùmil interrupted urgently. Placing his hand on my unhurt arm, he said, "And Haldir told me of your fancy for him. I understand."

 _My_ fancy for _him_? I mentally facepalmed, but there were bigger problems at hand. "Listen to me," I said quietly. "Our friendship—it was never real. I _used_ you, Rùmil. Used you to get closer to Haldir. And I used him to get closer to Galadriel." I met his sad gaze, wincing as I admitted the painful truth. "You were just a rung on a ladder."

I looked away. I couldn't watch the pain in Rùmil's eyes turn to anger. I couldn't watch another person learn that it was safer to hate me.

A soft touch to my cheek drew my gaze back. Rùmil's expression was still sad, but not angry, and not hateful. "Perhaps that is what you believed back then," he said. "But I see it in your face now. You care about me more than you admit. You care enough to regret your wrongdoing. Perhaps as only a friend—but I am willing to accept this. Eda," he whispered, his eyes shining with a smile. "I forgive you, my friend."

I put my good arm around his neck, biting back the tears threatening to overflow. Eru, I needed one of those newfangled Gondorian water faucets. Preferably _before_ I founded New Laketown.

Rùmil gently returned my embrace, giving my neck an innocent kiss. If it had been anyone else, I would've been uncomfortable. But Rùmil was, in so many ways, still a mere elfling.

"Rùmil."

I went rigid at Haldir's deadly tone right behind me. Eru, how did that Elf move so bloody quiet!?

Rùmil did not relinquish our embrace, merely shifted to meet his brother's gaze over my head. "Yes?" he replied, not the slightest trace of worry in his voice.

"Have you forgotten all dignity?" Haldir hissed. "Remove your hands from the harlot at once."

I flinched.

"The hate in your words is strong," Rùmil said, rubbing my back comfortingly. "But a hate that deep can only grow from what was once love." A deadly silence ensued for three seconds. Then Rùmil gave a light chuckle. "I am not blind, Haldir, nor am I as naive as you would believe. Eda confessed her crimes to me, and I forgave her. As it would be well for you to do also, brother," he added, amusement in his tone.

I pulled back and turned to face Haldir. Under his eyes were nasty purple bags, and his nose was visibly crooked.

"Haldir, what happened?" I exclaimed.

"Perhaps you should ask your other male companion," Haldir snapped. "Or should I be more specific?"

That one smarted, but I didn't return his cut. Instead, I pulled out of Rùmil's embrace and said, "I should be getting back to them, actually. Rùmil, thank you for your forgiveness. Haldir—good day."

And I returned to the archery range.


End file.
